The Legacy Of The League
by Thesilentmage
Summary: Cosette Blakeney had always been a fan of the tales of the now somewhat retired Scarlet Pimpernel, but as the daughter of Sir Percival Blakeney, she had never expected to find herself in the middle of one... Well, until she woke one day a prisoner of a Monsieur Chauvelin, changing the world as she knew it forever, and proving her father's past can never truly be forgotten.
1. Prologue

Year of our Lord, 1800:

Anyone who was to see Cosette Blakeney would never have imagined her to one day be just as heroic in her nature as the infamous Scarlet Pimpernel. Indeed, when one was to examine her and consider her parentage and status in life, it was logical to assume she would be just another socialite fop. She was the daughter of one of the richest men in England, and every bit as beautiful as her mother. She was perfectly ordinary … or so it seemed to the outside world.

Indeed, even at the tender age of seven, Cosette had had nothing but an exceptional upbringing for an English lady. She could curtsey beyond gracefully. She could speak almost perfect French, and had quite an ability for the piano forté and singing - when she could be inclined. Then there was her natural gift for riding, and dancing. In every way, she seemed to be the perfect future heiress every one in England expected her to be.

However, despite her achievements, it was also undeniable that Cosette Blakeney was remarkably like her parents, but in ways only those privy to the true lives of Lord and Lady Blakeney would understand.

For instance, Cosette was every bit as adventurous and curious as her parents were. Her mother often blamed this on her father, but by the smile he normally wore when she said this, Cosette assumed her mother was just as much to blame as he was. Take this night for example: instead of being fast asleep as she was supposed to be, Cosette was up and about, exploring the corridors of her ancestral home.

Her bare feet hastily tiptoed forward, her white nightdress flowing behind her. She edged slowly down the passageway clutching the candelabra in her delicate hand, and blinked as it bathed the small corridor in an eerie glow.

Whereas many children her age would shudder at the darkness, Cosette didn't mind one bit; she loved exploring the old passages. The darkness was nothing new to her, nor was the place she called home. How could she ever be scared here, where she had her dear mama and papa to look after her?

Cosette smiled softly as she pressed on, perfectly content. Her toes, however, did feel numb from the icy breeze that blew down the passage. If only she'd worn slippers, she thought with a regretful sigh, but a few more feet and she would have made it without being seen.

She struggled not to laugh at that thought. She could almost be a part of the Scarlet Pimpernel's group of heroes - she too could save aristos in France. Maybe that was where her mother and father had disappeared to last month! They had both disappeared rather quickly instead of returning back from that party…

It was silly, she knew that. As if her parents could be any part of the Scarlet Pimpernel's gang of allies. Still, Cosette couldn't help the childish urge to daydream.

Ever since she'd been old enough to remember, she had heard endless tales of the mythical hero. It only made sense she'd be obsessed with the man and like to imagine herself a part of his merry band of men. It was far more exciting to her seven-year-old mind than most of the things that happened at Blakeney Manor ever were.

Well, that was except for nights like these, Cosette smiled as she finally came to a halt. She had made it.

Carefully she put down the candelabra on to the wooden side table and opened the door before her as silently as she could manage. With that, she crept into the room trying not to step on the squeaky floorboards that lined the grand library - her favourite room in all the house. It was also her favourite place to come to when she couldn't sleep. There was nothing like curling up in her father's armchair, and reading till her little eyes would droop shut.

So, with a confident huff, Cosette approached the nearest bookshelf, ready to claim her newest title for the night. The little figure, however, didn't count on being spotted by her father, Sir Percy, who was usually not quite asleep at this hour. In fact, at that particular moment, he was stood in the doorway behind her, beaming ear to ear as he watched the little rascal.

Cosette was so preoccupied with choosing her book she also didn't count on being hugged gently from behind.

"Lord, mademoiselle, where are you going at this hour?" he whispered smiling at the blond infant as she jumped in surprise. It was almost too adorable. "It is far too late for you to be scampering about the place."

"Papa," she whined. Cosette turned, her arms folding over her chest in frustration. "You know not to creep up on me."

She hated being caught. Cosette had truly thought she had been most clever with getting to the library unnoticed. She tried to hide her annoyance as she huffed at her father, trying also not to surrender to his affectionate nature.

It was easier said than done, especially as Percy stroked her hair gently, bending down to her height.

"Pray, tell me what you are doing up this late?" he quizzed, raising his blond eyebrows and folding his arms as well. The two seemed to be mirror reflections of each other.

"I was going for a walk," Cosette replied smoothly.

"Out here?"

"Yes."

"In the library at this hour? Sink me if you ain't lying," Percy contradicted with a soft chuckle. She really was the undoing of him. She only had to bat those darling eyelashes of hers, and he would be hopeless. All he'd want to do was take her in his arms, just as he did then, carrying her towards the corridor outside. "What are you really doing?" he grinned.

Cosette sighed. Fine then, maybe the truth might work. It was pointless trying to lie to her Papa anyway… he always knew. Sleepily, she turned her little blond head and nuzzled into his neck.

"I had a nightmare," she sighed almost casually. It appeared she had inherited his natural stoicism.

"What about my dear?" Percy asked, genuinely surprised. That was most unlike Cosette, even if it did account for why she was awake so late.

Sleepily she twirled her fingers into his cravat. "Well… you have been away all week, again."

"Oh," he paused, missing a beat. "That was nothing. A mere business trip with your dear Uncles Andrew and Tony."

Cosette nodded, although clearly unsatisfied with the answer. "Still… You could have taken me with you, Papa. I missed you."

"And I you, my dear."

"I just dreamt that … well…"

"Yes?"

"What if you do not always come home?"

Percy sighed a little in relief, even if his heart constricted painfully in response to his child's fear. This was, at least, one topic he could easily handle. Far more easily than the time he had tried, and failed, to explain that monsters were not in fact real. Nor did they live under his daughter's bed.

He had known letting Armaund babysit was a bad idea.

"My dear, I would never leave you and your darling mother- especially not in her condition. That is all far too preposterous - even for your imagination. All I want in the world is within these four walls. Where else would I wish to stay?" he grinned, soothing in his entire being. His handle cradled her head as she leaned against him, and he pressed several soft kisses to her head. "Good, now that is settled let us get you to bed. I do believe it shall be far comfier for you than that wretched armchair you so love to sleep in."

As if to prove the point, he opened the door to her bedroom and began to lower her towards the awaiting bed. However, it was as his daughter began to nestle herself amongst the many pillows that filled her bed that she finally spoke again.

"Papa… I am sorry for doubting you. I just thought it all was something to do with the Scarlet Pimpernel," she muttered guiltily.

Well, he had not been expecting that statement.

"Really, what a preposterous notion. Me? One of those renegade devils?" Percy laughed flamboyantly, pulling her once more into an embrace. It was his usual habit when asked about the elusive English hero. It was the way he had defended himself time and time again, though never from his own family. The thought caused a stab of grief in his heart, even as he felt the little girl chuckling into his chest. "Now sleep. Or mother will have both our heads."

Cosette yawned sleepily, still smiling as she turned her head toward her pillow. Once she was lying comfortably, her father gently tucked her in under the sheets.

No one could fault Percival Blakeney for his skill, and natural talent as a father. Despite his irresponsible, foppish reputation in the eyes of the rest of the world it could not have been further from the truth when it came to his ability to be a parent.

Family had always been the most important thing to Percy Blakeney, despite what anyone else may have thought. Money, status, and power were trivial items in his eyes. Having grown up in such a broken home, his whole life he had sought to ensure he would never again experience such suffering.

It was why he had fought so hard to earn, and keep, the love of the greatest woman in the world - the woman who had married him, and changed his life for the better in so many ways that he was unable to fully comprehend them. She had given him the greatest gift of all: a loving family of his own. He would do anything to protect it, and above all else, cherish it.

Slowly, with one last glance at the domestic scene, he turned to leave. It was then though, a soft hand grabbed his fingers.

"Will you sing to me?" Cosette whispered, looking at her papa with her big blue eyes.

Percy groaned sitting back down. This evidently wasn't over yet. Especially not when she was looking at him like that. Why had she had to inherit Marguerite's gaze? The irony was not lost on him. Of course, both the women in his life would have to be able to wrap him around their little fingers.

"Sing?" he exclaimed, holding her petite hand in his. "Why would you want to hear me sing?"

"That is what mother does when I cannot sleep," Cosette explained shaking her long blond hair.

Whereas Marguerite was an excellent performer, he was not so blessed. Still, he sighed in defeat. "So be it, what should I sing to you?"

"How about mother's lullaby?" she grinned, happy of her fathers' attention. "I hear mother singing it often," came the reply from the bed.

"She does, does she?" he chuckled. He might have to ask dear Margot about that, especially if it meant he was expected to carry on this habit of theatrical performances for their child.

Gently he opened his mouth as the song poured out. He noticed how his child's eyes began to droop wearily with every tender note. For that delightful reception alone he continued, kissing her forehead as he watched her ease into a restful slumber.

Sir Percy Blakeney was not renowned for his vocal abilities, and to hear him singing was beyond a rarity. Only their daughter had power over dear Percy like this.

Much to Percy's relief, his daughter had finally fallen back into a peaceful slumber. She was definitely asleep as he rose and turned to leave from his position beside her.

"Good night, my love," he whispered, closing the door soundlessly behind him.

With that, Percy made his way back towards his own room. His face had fallen into a small frown as her words replayed in his mind again and again. They still worried him as he returned to his bedchamber.

At least he wasn't going anywhere again soon. Cosette had no need to fear on that score, he was England bound for the foreseeable future. The terror in France had all but ground to a halt, and order prevailed. Also, having recently delivered Napoleon's latest plans regarding Europe to his Majesty, Percy had more than earned himself a respite - besides, he had more pressing commitments here to take care of.

Speaking of which, as he entered back into their room he was surprised to see Marguerite smiling up gently at him. Considering the hour he had thought her long since retired.

To his amazement, and delight, she was propped against the cushions, turning underneath the covers which was easier said than done. The somewhat proud swell of her stomach made that almost a challenge as she tried to maneuver herself. She was due any day now, carrying their second child together.

"Singing? I never thought it was one of your passions," she teased, watching as her husband entered and proceeded to ready himself for bed.

He groaned at the realisation his wife had overheard his little night time performance. "It most certainly is not," came the indignant reply, as he removed his waistcoat and shirt. This caused her to smile even more.

"Perhaps you should have joined me at the Theatre Des Arts. You would have been a real crowd favourite."

"Margo," Percy chuckled in warning. There was mischief in both their eyes as Percy hastily cast aside the rest of his attire, exchanging it for a night shirt. All he wanted in that moment was to climb into bed, and embrace the woman he cherished so much.

Thankfully, that was precisely what he did a mere moment or two later. Instantly Marguerite responded, and nestled into her husband's embrace, clearly as eager for his affection as he was for hers. The content smile on her face said as much, even in the darkness of the room.

"I had thought you would be asleep by now," Percy whispered softly, casting his wife a concerned glance. "I thought it was only Cosette and I who were left awake at such a late hour."

A groan escaped Marguerite's lips as she tried not to frown. "This child keeps tossing and turning inside me," she explained. She stroked her abdomen fondly, the very epitome of maternal bliss, even if her tone betrayed her exhaustion and mild irritation. "He is making sleep impossible. He's like his father, too full of energy."

"I am sorry, darling-" There was a brief pause as Percy seemed to fully register his wife's proclamation. "Wait, a boy?" Percy breathed in amused disbelief. "You believe it to be a boy?"

Marguerite nodded as she gazed at her swollen stomach. Her gaze was so intense it appeared as if she could see straight into the womb itself, and at the child growing inside there. "Indeed. I am certain of it, I can feel it."

"Really?"

"Yes. Finally, I can fulfill my promise to you, of an heir."

"Margo," Percy chided, his eyes swimming with adoration as he kissed her. The gesture alone made his feelings on the matter clear. All he had ever wished for was a loving family of his own - and that was what he now had. Nothing in the world could make him happier, despite what Marguerite might have believed. Despite his gesture, it did not stop him from voicing his feelings as well to his darling wife. "That has never mattered to me, nor will it ever. Any child of ours is precious, and you honour me with such a gift."

"Still, motherly instinct is never wrong, Percy," Marguerite quipped, as if he should have known such a fundamental fact of life. "I was right about Cosette. Why would I not be about this, our son?"

It was true Marguerite had accurately predicted the birth of their daughter, dropping hints over and over again throughout the months as to her belief. Whether or not the fact she had been right was a coincidence or some kind of motherly promotion, Percy was not entirely sure. His wife had proven herself to be a remarkable woman in many ways. Perhaps it was not completely beyond the realms of possibility she was right again about their second?

"Whoever this child turns out to be, we will love them as unconditionally as we love one another and our beautiful daughter." The confidence was clear in Sir Percy's tone, as he effectively drew the discussion to a halt for the night. "Besides, it was most likely coincidence your predictions about Cosette being a girl."

"Percy!"

"I speak the truth, Margo, and you know it."

Marguerite's frown very much said otherwise but she simply smiled in return, kissing his cheek gently. "We shall see about that. Till then, good night to you, my darling," she muttered, rolling over into the bed sheets.

"Goodnight to you as well, ma dear," Percy breathed happily.

* * *

 **Hi there and thanks for reading this! I've had this story in my head (and on my laptop) for years now, ever since I basically first read The Scarlet Pimpernel. It's my favourite novel, and after so much time over the years imagining and editing and creating, I've decided to publish this and make it a project to finish the whole story. I'll try and update often as I have drafts for most of the chapters that just need some work / finishing. Please feel free to review and respond. I'd love to hear from you xxx**


	2. Chapter 1

**_11 years later:_**

Life at Blakeney Manor was never dull. For the occupants of the house, the numerous staff and the many tenants of the estate, life with the Blakeney family was full of its own excitement. Today was no exception.

With a creak, the door to the servants' hall flew open. Through it, a figure bolted. Her boots clattered against the fine marble floors, leaving a small trail of dirt and mud in her wake as she ran as fast as she could manage.

Cosette Blakeney thanked every lucky star in the sky that the servants' hallway was empty for that moment in time. If their housekeeper, Mrs. Windham, had seen the state of her freshly washed floors Cosette would have been in for a scolding and a half - title or no title. The woman was notorious, even if she did always manage to run a tight ship downstairs. Cosette did not need to add her to the potential list of trouble she was currently in.

With a hasty curse, she ran a hand through her windswept and mud-spattered hair. Her feet guided her the rest of the way down the hallway with as much haste and stealth she could muster. It was official: she was late. Very late… Hopefully, her mother had not noticed yet.

Next time she went riding she was bringing a pocket watch. At least this time she had chosen to wear an old set of breeches. Had it been her usual riding skirts she would have been weighed down in her desperate flight. Still, she was clearly not stealthy enough as she had barely made it down the corridor before she heard her name being called loudly.

"'Settie!"

Her feet clambered to an ungraceful stop. There was only one person who ever called her by that name.

"Thomas," she greeted, spinning around to face the eleven-year-old boy staring at her.

There was no ignoring Thomas Blakeney, her younger brother, even when she wanted to. For starters, despite his youth, he clearly had inherited their father's remarkable height and was already rather tall for his age of a mere tender eleven. Then, there were his shimmering golden curls, almost identical to Cosette's, that seemed to declare his location like the torch of a lighthouse. Yet, the most truly noteworthy element of Thomas Blakeney's presence was his infallible ability to be in the place you least expected (or in Cosette's case wanted) him to be. So, it was with a red-faced smile that Cosette faced her sibling.

"What are you doing down here?"

"I could ask you the same question," he replied casually, eyeing her muddied apparel. "But if you must know I am attempting to hide from Papa."

Cosette blinked. "Why? What did you do now?"

"Nothing," he protested innocently, folding his arms across his chest. "Well, nothing much. There may or may not have been an incident with a window upstairs and a cricket ball, which I had nothing to do with."

Cosette stifled the urge to laugh, choosing to roll her eyes instead. "You had best stay hidden a while longer yet, then. Perhaps in the passageway behind the portrait gallery?"

Blakeney Manor was a sight to behold quite unlike any other. The sheer scale of the grounds, and of the Palladian style building were impressive in their own right. However, the interior was another matter entirely. The stables were full of many beautiful steeds, and the hallways were lined with numerous portraits and antiquities of value beyond measure. Each and every room only further proclaimed the wealth of its owners.

But the greatest element of the house, in Cosette's opinion, was the labyrinth of passageways to explore and long corridors to hide in. Blakeney Manor was rich with its own history and mysteries, the depths of which Cosette had only began to delve into through her years of exploration.

"In the meantime, I need to-"

"Get ready for the ball?" Thomas teased, chuckling to himself playfully. "I know. Mama was looking for you hours ago!"

"Hells teeth," Cosette automatically cursed, causing her brother to gasp and cover his mouth. "I am in for it now."

"'Settie, you're not supposed to curse! At least you get to go tonight and not be dumped like a worn out boot!" His tone was oddly bitter as he huffed.

"Sorry, Thomas," Cosette sighed, ruffling his hair and pulling him towards her. "You know I would rather stay here instead. I do not suppose you fancy trading places?"

"Only if you agree to take me with you next time you ride," he warned, pointing to her muddied apparel. "Papa was supposed to tomorrow, but is apparently busy."

That was an easy request. "Of course, for my darling little brother, anything."

Thomas, laughed eagerly, squirming from her affections and all but urging her towards the staircase ahead. Cosette didn't need telling twice.

After a moment more of sprinting past startled servants, she reached her bedroom door and burst inside. She let out a sigh of relief, resting her back against the wooden door and gasping for breath.

She closed her eyes. That had been far too close.

"Well, you made it," came a gentle woman's voice.

Cosette's eyes snapped open instantly and she leapt away from the door. Zounds.

"Mother," she laughed weakly. "You startled me."

Marguerite Blakeney smiled widely at her daughter, sitting up from her perch on the edge of a comfortable looking chair. Despite the years that had gone by, Marguerite Blakeney had lost none of her youthful looks. Truth was, married life suited her. Her face glowed with a mother's love as she watched her daughter bashfully try to recover from being rumbled by her mother.

"Did I now?" she teased lightly, "I am very sorry. I came to check how you were getting on and realised you were not yet back so I thought I would wait for you. I also took the liberty of calling for a bath in your absence. I had a suspicion you would need one."

Cosette smiled and wiped her forehead in relief. "I see… Thank you. I am so sorry. I lost track of time… I came back as soon as I could."

Marguerite nodded, rising to face her daughter. She observed the muddy attire her daughter wore and smirked in amusement. "Maybe I will have to join you on your ride next time."

Cosette paused, raising an eyebrow. "You?" she laughed softly. "I did not think you liked riding."

"You forget I had a life before you. I was quite adventurous when I was younger," Marguerite replied, a hidden past glazing her eyes over. With a subtle shake of her head, she dispelled any and all thoughts of the past that may have been lingering.

"Really?" Cosette smirked, slowly peeling her boots off and depositing them by her bedpost. She looked back around her bedroom slowly.

Her room was large with lots of light pouring in from the set of windows that lined the opposite wall, making the room feel light and airy. The large sets of tapestry curtains were pulled back, and there was a fine matching tapestry rug lying on the otherwise bare floor. On the walls around the two women were a few paintings and drawings, all too fine to be Cosette's, the only decorations in there minus a vase and a few ornaments.

Apart from that, there were a few pieces of furniture and books balanced on nearly all of them. Cosette had never been too decorative and cherished the eclectic feel of her room. It was hers.

There was also a screen in one corner, masking a now full bathtub behind it and a washstand. The scent of the salts in the tub was actually divine, as was the prospect of removing the layer of filth that clung to every part of her.

"Yes really, Madame," Marguerite scoffed back. "But never mind. I came, as I said, to check how you were getting on. The ball _is_ in a couple of hours. Your father is currently wrestling your brother into agreeing to behave and stay home, the little terror he is. Honestly."

The thought of him trying to locate the boy was amusing, more so if her brother had made it to the passageway. "Oh, please, don't say I actually have to go to that thing. Maybe I should have stayed outside."

Cosette immediately felt a groan escape her lips.

"Cosette, it is a party. Not your execution."

"I fail to see a difference," she replied deadly serious, stepping forward as she did so.

Marguerite laughed again. "Come on, your father is getting ready as we speak and it is only for a few hours." She tried.

Cosette smiled and shook her head. "A few hours that are filled with more pain than I can bear. Can I not just stay here?"

"No, you have a reputation to uphold. Besides, _I_ want you to go… please. For me?"

Before Cosette could reply, the door opened, and a slender, dark-haired girl dressed in a plain dress and cap entered, carrying a dress, draped delicately over her thin arms. She set the dress down over the edge of the large four poster bed completely oblivious to the argument behind her.

"Amelia," Marguerite began, sounding almightily relieved to see the young girl. "Thank heavens you are here… maybe you can be my comrade in this battle I seem to be losing."

Amelia straightened as Marguerite addressed her, bobbing in a small curtsey, the novelty of which was lost on Cosette, and turned quickly around to face them. As she lifted her head, her face rose into full view, displaying her features in the bright sunlight. Her eyes were dark hazel, her skin soft and smooth, and her lips delicately shaped. She was very beautiful, despite the plain clothes she wore.

Amelia was more a friend and confidante than a servant in Cosette's opinion. They'd been that way for many years, too many to count. They spent hours together every day, in such an intimate setting that their companionship was almost inevitable.

"Your Ladyship?" Amelia asked, smiling in confusion at what her mistress had just said. Marguerite laughed lightly.

"I see you brought the dark blue dress I asked for. Thank you," she breathed. "It's just his Highness's Summer Gala is in a few hours and I need Cosette ready. Yet, Cosette seems determined to remain here."

"Oh," Amelia managed. Her eyes moved to her younger mistress and Cosette saw the amusement they concealed. Amelia was Cosette's closest friend and ally at Blakeney Manor. Having served as Cosette's Lady's Maid for as long as Cosette could remember, Amelia was more than used to this. This wasn't the first time Cosette had protested against her aristocratic duties.

"I just fail to see the point, mother," Cosette replied to her mother's previous comment whilst walking away from the conversation. "I hate these things. All I do is stand there, bored out of my mind, whilst men I loathe pester me into dancing with them. This time I simply refuse to be subjected to this torture… as my mother I pray you, nay I _beg_ you… please don't send me. Let me stay home with Thomas," she continued, flopping down onto her mattress in an over-theatrical manner. It was something she seemed to have inherited.

Besides, Cosette felt she did rather have a good point. If her younger brother, Thomas Blakeney, was allowed to stay home then she should be too. Did it truly matter that he was only eleven, whereas she was now ten and eight? As it was, he was the only one of the Blakeney children who actually wished to attend this blasted ball. He hated being left behind whilst his family were out, whereas Cosette loathed being dragged along.

It was something truly comical to behold when the two of them bickered over the topic. As it was, Marguerite began to laugh loudly at the mere thought, shaking her blonde head, and crossing her arms.

"Cosette," she grinned, "You are going and that is that. All this resistance is futile… I have had too many years living with your father. If I can handle him I can handle you. Please… for me and your father… just get ready," she begged.

Cosette groaned loudly and turned over, burying her face in the duvet. "Fine," she mumbled.

"Good. See you downstairs," Marguerite finished, winking at her daughter affectionately. "I love you."

She turned and walked out of the room, but not before she mouthed, "good luck" at Amelia. Heavens knew the girl needed it.

Amelia smiled back and looked at her friend and the mammoth task before her.

As soon as the door shut Cosette sat upright and turned back around. Amelia remained where she'd stood a moment ago.

"Do not say it," Cosette smirked instantly.

"Say what?" Amelia laughed, folding her arms and raising an eyebrow at her friend. "I do not know what you are talking about."

"You were about to tell me to go, that it will be fun - heavens knows, I might even enjoy it," she teased back, hurling a pillow in Amelia's direction. Amelia caught it with ease and put it down beside her. "You know it is the truth."

Amelia grinned. "Oh, hush. I was actually going to say that your mother means well. You are a lady at the end of the day - parties like this one are part of your life. She just wants you to have a good time."

"If she wanted me to have a good time she would let me stay here and read, fence, ride… anything but this," Cosette vented.

Cosette may have been a Blakeney but she thoroughly detested all aspects of aristocratic life. It made her mother and father laugh to no end when she refused dresses, invitations and everything ladylike. It was almost ironic considering her debut into society only a few short months ago had been a roaring success.

She could remember the night like it was yesterday. How could she not? She had been waiting apprehensively for it for months. There was so much preparation it felt more like she was heading into battle, rather than into English society. Then again, these days that very much meant the same thing.

Every moment of the day would be ingrained in her memory for as long as she lived: from the way her periwinkle dress had swept behind her with every step down the grand staircase during the presentation ceremony, to the way his majesty had bowed his head as she stood before his throne, curtsying so low her knees almost touched the fine carpeted floor. But that hadn't even been the half of it; there had also been the small matter of her debutante ball afterward.

As was customary in society, every debutante often held a ball to officially mark her entrance into English Society. The creme de la creme of English gentle society had been there, as much for the attention it gave them, as much as the opportunity to appraise the eldest Blakeney child.

Cosette had never been more terrified, whilst simultaneously excited, in all her life. She had been on her best form, even if she did say so herself. She had promenaded the room with grace, poise, and charm as she made her way from one introduction to the next. In fact, for a few hours, everything seemed to be going swimmingly. Then came the matter of her first dance, and the fact that none other than his royal highness, the King, came to collect it.

"May I request the honour of the first dance?"

Cosette had tried not to beam too proudly as she took his outstretched hand, and dipped in a formal curtsey. It felt like her heart would beat right out of her chest. "Your Highness does me an immense honour," she beamed, knowing exactly what that particular moment meant for her.

The fact he had accepted the invitation to the party alone was enough of a sign of prestige and respect. But to ask her for her first dance in society? Cosette didn't blame her parents for beaming as proudly as they did from the side of the room.

As much as she had enjoyed the evening, by the end of it she was left with an overwhelming sense of relief and gratitude that it was over. It had gone better than she had dared dream, but if Cosette ever had to attend another ball again it would be too soon for her. What fun was an endless evening of small talk and gossip compared to a sense of adventure?

Her preference was clear through the fact that, as a child, she had asked her father for lessons in shooting and fencing rather than dancing. They were never exactly thrilled by the prospect of their daughter learning how to fence and shoot a pistol but there was little either of them could do to stop it. All Cosette had to do was grin and her father's heart would melt just as easily as it did for her dear mother.

It was abundantly clear that Sir Percival's daughter was slightly more reckless than either he or dear Margot wished.

"Oh stop it," Amelia smiled kindly, pulling her friend up off the bed. "It will not be that bad. I hear Lord William is going tonight. You shall have him to talk to."

The William in question was Sir William Ffoulkes and dear Sir William was now eight and ten too, son of Sir Andrew and his wife Suzanne. You could tell his heritage by the identical brown hair of his father, and his mother's gentle green eyes. He was not their only child, for he also had a younger sister, Rose, who was also similar in age to Thomas. She also shared her father's colouring, but was far quieter than her brother.

Will was Cosette's only other close friend. Ever since the two of them had been born, they'd been inseparable. Many a day they had spent together, running around the estates, fishing, riding, talking, fencing, climbing… just about anything. They had always done it together. Will was like her brother in a sense. One brilliant thing the two of them also shared was their hatred of balls; he hated them just as much as she did. If he was going then that would be some small relief.

She nodded. "Thank heavens… I am sorry I am so miserable today Amelia, it is not your fault." Cosette touched the sleeve of the dress she was to wear with the tips of her fingers. It was deep blue satin, with a gauze netting layered delicately over the top. She had to admit it was beautiful.

"It is no matter, your Ladyship, honestly. Besides, you know perfectly well that if you do not get in that tub I will have no choice but to throw you in myself," Amelia offered with a sly smile.

"You would not dare."

Amelia laughed, edging closer as Cosette leaped towards the tub obediently.

"Alright, alright," she surrendered, stripping her clothes off and casting them aside.

"Will you require some help changing afterward?" Amelia asked softly.

"Much obliged Amelia. I believe I will." If she was to head into battle that night she would at least go prepared. "Do your worst."


	3. Chapter 2

His Highness' summer estate at Hampton Court, in the heart of Surrey's countryside, was well known for the numerous lively gatherings that were thrown there. The many grand ballrooms were always in use, all of which were filled with elaborate decorations and music. The beautifully crafted architecture inside, and out, of the property screamed of the wealth involved with its' owner: a wealth that was beyond any standard of the many counts, dukes, and Lords that regularly attended.

Upon this particular night, the ballroom was filled with the glorious sound of the string quartet and the cheers of the aristocracy. The early summer night was surprisingly warm and all the glass doors were thrown wide open allowing a gentle breeze to circulate.

Hundreds were mingling throughout the property. Outside people could be seen strolling around the luscious green grounds that surrounded the manor. The flowers were in full bloom and added an air of life to the residence. Across the horizon, the sunset painted the world a warm yellow and filled the air with the scent of the fragrance of the flowers.

Inside the party, the summer seemed to spark something of a fever amongst people. So much so that, both the dancing and the wine flowed freely. Despite all this, of course, everyone knew deep down that the real party only began when Sir Percival Blakeney arrived.

Society admired Sir Percy, and he was well known for his fashion and expensive tastes. It was undisputed that he was a stylish gentleman of great wealth. His position, none the less, was not all that defined him. It was well known that his closest friends saw more than the arrogant fop, that society was so accustomed to seeing. This was also why tonight he was attending the Prince of Wales' annual summer ball.

No one understood his highness and Sir Percy's unusual friendship but it mattered little to them. The years had seen their friendship grow stronger and stronger, so that even as both men matured, so too did their respect for one another. As long as the Prince and Sir Percy were in town, they would always be the height of British Society.

Tonight was no exception. As soon as Sir Percy himself emerged from the majestic carriage that had just arrived, everyone's heads turned in wonder. He wore a pale red coat that matched his lighter waistcoat, which fitted his figure perfectly, accentuating the muscular arms beneath the sleeves. His cravat was in good form, full of buoyancy and gusto- a masterpiece in his opinion. It really was all about the starch, he decided.

The only real mystery surrounding this aristo was his continuous long absences from society. But that was one thing society would never know, no matter how much they speculated.

As he emerged into the driveway he couldn't help but smile and turn, extending a hand to the figure behind him. For, of course, there was no missing the beautiful woman that had captivated them since her first gathering, Marguerite Blakeney.

The still youthful Parisian was the pure meaning of beauty. Even as she approached the beginnings of her late forties, she was still the epitome of beauty. Her lustrous blonde curls were held upwards by the glistening pearl pins that decorated her head. Her deep cut dress clung to her figure gracefully, with a deep gold stitching that only added to her radiance. Her bodice complimented her curves and her smile was impossible to miss.

With a smile, Marguerite accepted her dear husband's hand and stepped out beside him into the warm evening. Her eyes lingered on him as she watched him press a gentle kiss to her fingertips.

"Percy," she smirked teasingly.

"Your servant, Madame," he smiled, rising from his bow.

With that, his turned back around and his hand extended once more, to assist the other occupant in the carriage who was laughing softly to herself as she emerged.

"Father, must you really do that every time?"

"Of course ma dear," Percy replied gallantly in return, causing Margot to chuckle. "Else, heaven forbid, your darling mother will think I have stopped loving her."

"As if that was possible," Marguerite scolded. "I could never think such a thing."

Everyone knew and adored Cosette Blakeney, as the daughter of the two richest and most popular people in all of England. That, as well as the fact she was gifted with both her mother's beauty and father's brains, made her a deadly foe to any women in society, not that she cared to make many foes. Cosette Blakeney was blessed with her perfect manners and kind-hearted nature. She loved her parents and their many fond friends and had many of her own. Now that she was out in society when the time came for her to chose a husband, it was clear she would have her pick of the crop.

That was if dear Sir Percy did not chase them all away first. It was clear to all how much he adored his daughter. It was also clear to Cosette he was enjoying every moment of this evening, and watching her act the very essence of an English lady.

The way she stood so elegantly as he took his wife's arm and lead the three of them forward into the grand foyer, made his heart swell with pride.

Cosette was used to this by now, being greeted with smiles and a warm welcome. Including, from his royal highness – the Prince of Wales, who seemed very merry that fine evening clutching his full glass of brandy. It was a rare occurrence these days to see him out and about, considering his weakened health. Still, since his son had taken over as Regent a few months ago, he had little else to do. Tonight for instance, he was busy talking rather animatedly to an overly eager young woman, the Lady Cécile – if Cosette remembered correctly.

Cosette's eyes travelled around in awe and wonder. The sheer scale of this place never ceased to amaze her. It made Blakeney manor seem like a cottage in comparison.

Her attention though was reclaimed as the Prince chuckled loudly, and turned, just as a voice officially announced their arrival to the masses.

"Ar Percy! Began to worry you weren't going to show!" scoffed the Prince, his chest wobbling slightly as he erupted into laughter, causing all the medals pinned to his coat to clatter against each other.

Percy grinned and sauntered forward. "That would just not be cricket, eh Andrew?" came his cheery reply.

Cosette hadn't noticed the arrival of her father's dearest friend Sir Andrew Foulkes.

"Of course not Percy. Fashionable to be late isn't it?" Andrew laughed in return.

Sir Andrew looked almost as extravagant as Percy that night but was slightly more subtle in his wardrobe choices. A fine green waistcoat and jacket were his choice. Cosette had to admit he looked handsome. The years had certainly added a line here or there on his face, but his smile seemed as youthful as it always had. She watched as the two men smiled affectionately at each other.

Beside Sir Andrew, she also spied Suzanne, half hidden behind her husband's broad frame. They were one of the only other couples Cosette knew, besides her parents, who had ever seemed to be more in love as the days went by. Even now, hands clasped, they looked the epitome of marital bliss.

Suzanne grinned over his shoulder at Marguerite and smiled at the charade unfolding before them. Marguerite laughed lightly at the two men's commentary, curtsying as Percy bowed deeply. Cosette followed suit, bending her knees before his highness.

This routine was almost second nature to them all. The Prince, however, seemed more concerned by what they'd just said. He raised an eyebrow in surprise.

"Is it?" he quizzed. "I never knew lateness was the new trend."

"Indeed, Sire," nodded Cosette gently. "It's become very fashionable, or so I was told."

"Well then, it is a good thing that I have you all to keep me up to date with things like this," he beamed, causing everyone around them to laugh in delight. "Would not do at all to not know all the important facts of society, so I must thank you, my lady."

The Prince seemed to, all of a sudden, have noticed her and smiled widely, taking her hand and kissing her fingertips. He had always been affectionate towards her. She was Sir Percival's daughter after all.

"Oh, dear Lady Cosette. You are graced with such a wit it almost parallels your father's."

Cosette's small curtsey was genuine as she accepted such a compliment. "Nowhere near as great as your Highness'. I dare never enter a battle of wits with your grace; I would lose more than my pride."

"My my, you are charming. All these young men better watch out," he joked jovially. "Am I right Percy?"

"Indeed you are," Percy agreed, brandishing his eyeglass theatrically.

Cosette could see though, her father meant every word. She pitied the young gentleman who tried anything tonight.

"Oh my! I nearly forgot, Percy, Marguerite - the most bizarre thing happened today at my tailors."

The Prince grinned and disappeared into a long looking conversation with Percy and Margo. Cosette knew better than to stand there and be bored while they talked. It could go on for a while. So, as she had done what felt like a thousand times before, she listened politely, slowly edging out of sight until she was able to turn and disappear slyly into the crowd around her.

However, she was not the only escapeé. Lord Andrew too, had chosen to follow her. Clearly, he also didn't feel the need to stay and listen either.

"And where are we headed?" Andrew teased lightly.

Cosette paused, looking at the man with great affection. "Away from here, before I get stuck listening to his highness's stories about his tailor. I have enough with my father as it is. Only on the way here, he spent a good ten minutes discussing whether or not he believes lace will disappear from English fashion."

"Sounds like Percy, alright. I don't blame your haste to leave," Andrew smiled. "As it is I think I may have already heard this story before."

Cosette couldn't help but giggle lightly at that. How was it these men could be so proper and gallant one minute, and utter school boys the next? It was as if they all carried two masks they could change at the drop of a hat. It never ceased to astound her.

Andrew beamed happily and encased her hand in his, pressing a warm kiss against it.

"It is good to see you, Cosette," he breathed. He had always been the favourite of her many 'uncles'. He was like a second father to her.

"It is good to see you too, Andrew," she replied. After a moment they pulled apart smiling, but before either said anything a loud laugh interrupted them.

Cosette turned in surprise. "Tony?" she beamed as her other 'uncle' approached.

Indeed, none other than Sir Anthony Dewhurst had made his way towards them, probably relieved to have found friends in the swirling masses of people. He smiled widely and bowed before her also.

"Cosette," he smiled. "You look absolutely stunning. How is it you've become such an accomplished young lady when it feels only yesterday you were still not yet taller than my knee?"

"Why thank you," came her somewhat bashful reply. "I feel very flattered tonight."

"So you should be, right Andrew?" Tony smirked.

"Indeed," Andrew replied.

"Oh, what am I going to do with the pair of you? Is anyone else here?" she asked casually, her eyes examining the crowds around them. She looked for any other friendly faces.

"I think I saw Hastings a minute ago," Tony mused. "My wife is also here, currently talking to a friend."

Andrew laughed. "Suzanne is with Percy and Marguerite. They were with the Prince last time I saw them."

"Poor them," Tony interjected.

All three erupted into merry laughter. Maybe this evening wasn't a total loss after all, Cosette thought.

For the next few moments, Cosette, Tony, and Andrew all chatted happily. Mainly it was remarking upon the quality of their surroundings, the company they had, the music which was playing, and their personal thoughts on the dancing.

It was at this point Andrew and Tony erupted into laughter. Cosette rolled her eyes. They were mocking the Baron again - the 'Baron' being the title with which they referred to none other than their least favourite person here: Baron Hugo. Hugo was a large pompous man, the type of man to assume he was always right and knew everything there was to know about anything. Many a time he had 'ruffled her father, and his friend's feather's' - so to speak.

"What _are_ you two sniggering about?" she mused, looking at them with half amusement, half concern.

"We were not sniggering," demanded Tony almost indignantly which only made Cosette smile even harder. "Gentlemen do not snigger."

"If you must know, we were merely wondering how it is that the Baron over there will make it through the next dance," Andrew smiled, answering her question.

Cosette's eyes darted towards their victim, and a smile rose on her lips. The poor Baron was leaping around, clutching his chest, and wheezing terribly. So much so she feared he would collapse at any moment.

"Well, maybe I shall have to go and assist him through the next dance," she teased stepping forward.

Almost immediately both Andrew and Tony gasped, turning themselves defensively, all but barricading her way.

"He isn't worthy enough to kiss the ground you walk on," Tony scoffed, deadly serious.

"You say that about everyone," Cosette sighed in return.

"Well, we have a responsibility to your father, and you- our favourite niece- to save you from scum like the Baron."

"Not everyone in life is scum Tony," she scolded.

"You would say that you are just like your mother. Too kind for your own good," Andrew remarked.

Cosette didn't think that was necessarily a bad thing. Instead of protesting though, she shook her head and gently nudged his arm with hers.

She was not too nice… was she? She loved her uncles dearly, for their idiotic and well-intentioned actions. She took joy in teasing them and smiled to herself. Perhaps she should ask the rapidly approaching gentleman to dance instead. She knew for a fact they definitely wouldn't stop her.

"Will," she smiled warmly, having noticed the young man's arrival.

Will, as she called him, was relatively tall for his youthful age. Indeed, he wasn't as tall as Percy, no, her father had a whole head on Will, yet still, he was as tall, if not a fraction taller than, Andrew. Therefore, he was clearly visible above the heads of everyone around them. He was also noticeable by his soft brown hair, which glimmered slightly in the faint sunlight of the evening. Cosette also noticed a merry smile sat comfortably on his narrow and well-shaped lips.

The smile was one Cosette was more than familiar with by now. Over the years she'd seen it on numerous occasions, usually when the two of them had been causing some mischief of some kind in the woods of Blakeney park.

"Ah, there you are," Andrew began smoothly, a hint of playfulness lacing his words.

Andrew had always been an affectionate father, ever since the day his son had been born. Cosette had never seen Andrew yell or scold his son. Never. He always smiled, with a deep loving in his eyes. A love she recognised from her own parents. It seemed like nothing in the world made him happier than his son. It made Cosette love Andrew all the more.

"I was beginning to wonder where you had disappeared to."

"I was only over there by the window," Will replied to his father, playfully shaking his head in response as he did. "I was admiring the view this fine evening. His Highness' gardens are always quite the sight."

Cosette looked behind him and spotted where he had meant. She wasn't surprised to notice it happened to be the corner of the room - a corner where one may successfully conceal themselves from everyone else's attention. She refrained from remarking on that particular fact. That and the fact Will despised foliage.

Will eye's lowered from his father's and rested on Cosette's a mere second before he smiled again, and bowed before her politely. "Well well, I'm not sure whether this is some weird dream or not. Cosette Blakeney out at a social function where she isn't frowning? Heavens above. Tony pinch me," Will teased lightly.

"Are you insinuating you dream about me, Sir William?" Cosette retorted, her face dropping into a mock frown. "I fear that really isn't very proper. I may have to inform my father and leave you to his mercy. For you see, he takes matters concerning his daughter very seriously."

Andrew laughed loudly. "Good god, Will. Stop now while you have the chance, else I fear I'll be duelling Percy before the night is out. Your mother will kill us both."

"Never fear Andrew, I can duel in my father's place," Cosette grinned. "I am perfectly capable of defending my own honour."

"I am not entirely sure if that makes things worse or not," Will interjected with a subtle wink.

Luckily for him, he managed to move just as Cosette released a discreet kick at his shin which was well masked beneath her many skirts. She missed which only seemed to make Will laugh harder. Oh how she wished she wasn't in the ballroom right then, else she would have wiped that smile right off his face.

"I do so humbly beg your forgiveness, Cosette. Would you be so kind as to offer me the next dance?" Will soothed, offering her his hand.

Cosette simply nodded, dropping into a mockingly formal curtsey before accepting his hand. Only she had the power to make a gesture so composed and noble seem so teasing, and childish. "Of course, Sir William. I would be most glad. Come, let us leave these two schoolboys to themselves."

Tony and Andrew opened their mouths to reply but failed to find the words as they watched the pair stroll away into the crowd.

"Seems they are growing wittier as the days go by," teased Tony and it was then that Andrew sighed.

"They have always been witty Tony, it has been hard enough to keep up so far. God help us if they get any more so."

"I know. I just meant-"

"Yes, Tony?" Andrew grinned, watching his friend struggle with the words.

"Never mind. Let us go," he quickly whispered. "We should tell Percy the news."

"News?" Andrew asked.

"Yes. The courier?" Tony asked in return, jogging his friend's memory. "He was arriving today."

Andrew simply nodded, looking around the room for their leader. After a second he indicated over towards a large set of doors. "There he is," he remarked suddenly.

With a simple nod between them, they walked over swiftly.

On the other side of the room, the chuckling prince had finally turned to another crowd, who had just approached him. Percy seized the well-timed opportunity to turn around, where he was surprised to see both Andrew and Tony, who were walking up beside him. He walked over to them, putting distance between himself and the people around him.

"How did it go?" he whispered leaning in expectantly, noticing their serious look. He knew they had news.

"The courier arrived as expected. Armaund will be here happily in a week or two," explained Andrew secretively.

This was only to be expected as no one wanted the entire English aristocracy to know their beloved Pimpernel after all this time was none other than Sir Percy Blakeney. Marguerite, Suzanne, Louise and dear Yvonne were the only people outside of the league they wished to truly know, even if those days were now slipping further and further behind them.

Indeed, the revolution had come to an end many years before, removing the original cause for which the league had been founded. However, the league had not disappeared as one would have logically expected. No, not when there was a new threat to England growing every day that the new Emperor of France remained in power, his armies sweeping through Europe.

Of course this could not be left unchallenged by The League, who had refashioned itself with the goal of espionage.

For the last decade or so, Percy and his league had continued their escapades in France, foiling Napoleon's plans, and smuggling intelligence to the British government and authorities. It had been largely due to their efforts that Napoleon had been foiled at the battle of Waterloo, after detailed plans regarding Napoleon's forces had been found left on the Home Secretary's desk one morning - and even now, the league's intelligence watched with a wary eye, waiting for any new development or risk to England's soil. But it was becoming clearer by the day that the threat was receding, that soon the League would no longer have a purpose for which to remain.

Obviously this news was met with much relief from many members, who now had other responsibilities and families to concern themselves with. It was inevitable that the days of the Pimpernel were all but behind them. Still, the league came in useful occasionally, such as when Percy wished to use his network of informants to ensure his friends safe passage in and out of France. The revolution may have been over, but travel across the channel was still perilous considering the tension between the two nations.

Marguerite sighed in relief, squeezing her husband's hand gratefully, having just reached his side, and therefore had heard their report. "I still can't believe he went back there," she whispered with a sisterly concern.

"Neither can we," mumbled Andrew, much to his wife's annoyance.

Suzanne had also just joined their discussion. "It was not as if he had any choice," she began. "Louise's mother was ill, and he could not very well permit her to travel all that way to visit her alone. Besides, things are settling in France for once. You should really be far more concerned with wondering how their governess managed to handle Juliette and Melodie without them in their absence."

Margot instantly laughed at the idea of her two nieces being left alone to rule over the house as they wished. "It does not matter any longer. He will be home soon and then we can all rest easily, right Percy?"

Percy nodded at her and grinned at a worried looking Tony, whose eyes were on the people nearby. Seemed he was unusually anxious tonight. "Calm down fellow, ain't any danger here," Percy mused calmly, causing a burst of laughter from the group. "Unless you want to risk a dance?"

Suzanne smiled and tossed back her head looking at Andrew with her gently glistening eyes. "Would _you_ care to dance Sir Andrew?"

Andrew nodded gratefully taking his wife's hand and disappeared into the crowd with a sly grin over his shoulder. Tony took their lead and dashed towards a pretty little brunette across from him, who just happened to be his wife, till Marguerite and Percy were once again alone.

Taking that as a well deserved cue, Percy smiled and lead her towards the nearby patio, which they exited through before strolling the grounds around them. Margot was happy for the air and her dear husband's company once again.

It was rare that it was only them. There was always someone else to talk and dance with. One of the many 'perks' of society. Thank god for those precious moments they had together.

"That went well," she remarked swiftly, causing Percy to grin. Maybe it was the fervour of the summer evening, or the fact they were finally alone, but his arms coiled about her waist as he embraced her passionately.

"Indeed. Remarkably."

She smiled at her husband lovingly. He always seemed most cheerful when they were alone together, his face would light up youthfully and his whole demeanour radiated warmth. What she'd give to stay here, wrapped in his arms forever.

Percy sighed gently. "I admit I am glad I didn't accompany dear Armaund to Paris after all."

"I still can not believe you even considered it," Marguerite muttered, sounding oddly pained by the whole conversation. "It is one thing for Armaund to risk his life, but I could not stand for you to do so again. You have done so enough over the years."

Percy looked up at her in surprise. "I have all but left that life behind, Margo. I swore to you as soon as the chaos ended that I would relinquish my exploits. Surely you know that I would never break my promise," he breathed carefully tilting her chin towards him.

"I have a reason for asking though."

"Oh?" he enquired raising an eyebrow.

"Cosette, Percy," she sighed gently. "We have never told her the truth, and it is becoming almost impossible to conceal this from her any longer. She is nearly all grown up. You dashing off won't be good for her. Besides, our family is what matters now." She trailed off causing him to sigh tenderly.

"God knows I never want to leave you, my darling wife," he assured her kissing her cheek. "Or our adorable monsters - I mean, children."

Marguerite immediately began to laugh all over again, signalling the end of this topic of conversation. "Fine," she breathed, and Percy nodded. "Cosette is already suspicious as it is by everyone's coming and going. We need not encourage her any further."

"So no care for my personal well-being? Lord Madame, it seems that I mean little more to you than this damn cravat, what would our beloved Armaund think?" he scoffed affectionately, his eyebrows raised.

Marguerite laughed at him. He seemed to have a humour that would never fade.

She slid into the seat beside her and rested her head against the wall. Percy slid beside her.

"I do love you, remember?" she cheered eyeing him firmly.

He leant over and kissed her cheek once more. How good it felt to be with her again now. "I know you do. I love you too, darling."

* * *

 _ **Thank you to everyone who has read this story so far, it means a lot. I hope you enjoy it as much as I am enjoying writing it. xx Next chapter is where things really start to get going :)**_


	4. Chapter 3

Inside the party, Cosette and Will made their way through the crowds. It was hard to get from one side of the room to the other without being stopped to exchange pleasantries and remark on something or other with whomever had stopped them. As with many other things that night, it was a well rehearsed routine that both knew well.

Thankfully, they made it across the room unscathed and in a relatively quick time.

"How is your sister these days?" Cosette enquired, as they finally reached the edge of the crowd.

"Rose? She's doing well," Will beamed proudly. "She now boasts to know French and Italian fluently, and enjoys the fact she can now beat me at chess."

"I'm glad to hear it. That sounds like her."

Rose was almost the same age as Thomas, and like Thomas, she was remarkably similar to her other sibling. Despite being younger than Will, Rose was just as mischievous and as intelligent. She was fortunate enough, though, to have the remarkable gift of an innocent and demure face meaning she was often able to remove herself from any awkward situations. It was hard to blame her for anything, even when she was caught red-handed.

"I will have to visit her again soon. It has been too long."

"She'd like that," Will murmured softly, smiling wider with the invitation. "I would like that too, very much."

"I am glad to hear it."

"You can not be surprised by it, considering you practically live at ours," Will jibed affectionately. "Just as I seem to constantly find myself riding over to your estate."

"True," Cosette remarked, and it was. Ever since their infancy, their parents had passed on their intimate relationship to their children. All of society knew the Blakeneys' and the Ffoulkes' to be inseparable, and that they therefore naturally spent a remarkable amount of their time hosting one another for occasions of all kinds. It was inevitable then, that Cosette and Will should become so close. Cosette considered Will and Rose to be family in all but name, and Ffoulkes Manor a second home considering all the year she had spent with both. She would not have had it any other way. "But one of these days, Will, I fear we shall not be able to hide behind each other's company, and we shall be forced to actually socialise like a proper lord and lady."

"Oh? Are we not socialising?" Will mused, lifting an eyebrow as he did. "And what do you mean that we hide behind each other?"

"Is that not why you came to me earlier and relieved me of your father, and Tony's, company?"

Will laughed his usual charming laugh. "I was saving my father from his responsibilities," he teased mischievously. "I thought I would attempt to stop you from dancing with our red-headed friend Baron Hugo. He has two left feet and is a terrible partner."

"That is harsh Will, even for you and as it is I have not seen you dance all evening."

"What can I say? Earlier on my dear mother tried to make me dance with one of the Lady Alice's daughters," came his swift reply. "Since then I have been trying to avoid dancing of any kind, except with you of course."

Cosette paused in thought. "I thought that Bethany and Brigella could dance?"

"Last I was informed, dancing did not involve ending up with broken limbs," he informed her, prising between people slowly. They both watched for a moment the crowds that surged in front of them.

"I must say that I rather sympathise with them."

"Oh?"

"For I know how tiring and tedious dancing is, and I would run from the prospect of dancing with you," Cosette sighed, swatting his arm playfully. "I have seen you before. I think you broke the vase in the sitting room."

"I only dance when forced, but with my mother that is nearly every time," he chuckled. "And if I remember right, it was you who broke that vase. I valiantly took the blame when we were caught by your old housekeeper."

It was then Cosette laughed too. How could she forget such a day? "As always, you were - and continue to be - my guardian angel."

"You know me too well 'Settie… apologies… I mean Lady Blakeney."

"Don't be ridiculous Will, you and I will always address each other as we have done since we were children. I sincerely hope there shall never be any false formality between us," she stated firmly.

"I am most happy to swear to that," Will beamed proudly in response.

It was at that moment as well that a conveniently timed attendant strode past, a tray of refreshment in his hand. Will took two glasses, handing Cosette her own as he lifted his into the air.

"Here's to our friendship and our continued good health," he said jovially as he tapped his own glass to hers.

Once they had consumed the claret, Cosette smirked. "Goodness, Will. You are as incorrigible as always."

"I always say the best way to enjoy oneself at a ball is to make merry with wine, especially if there is to be dancing. Speaking of the latter, I hear the musicians tuning their instruments for the next set, and I do believe you owe me my dance."

He took hold of her hand and began to lead her to the dance floor, but Cosette made no movement to follow him. Instead, she beamed him a crooked smile. "Sir, I am terribly afraid you must wait a moment," she said sweetly. "You are not yet at liberty to engage me."

Will sensed her playfulness. "I thought we weren't going to stand on etiquette Cosette, must I now formally ask you for this dance?"

"Oh no, you must merely allow me to write your name on my dance card," replied Cosette as she reached into her purse and fished out the small card and pencil. She smoothly started penning his name into various empty rows, before displaying her work to him.

"Three dances? I see you are quite determined to have me worn out. Have no fear though, I will be up to the competition if you are."

As it was the music had just finished, and people were hurrying to exchange partners and take their positions for the next set. With a last nod between them, they drew out towards the floor and took a position of their own amongst the numerous couples.

Will took her hand and they took a step together. Soon enough the music began to speed up and the two of them danced with as much decorum as they could muster.

"See, you dance better than you thought," Will murmured as they finally came to the end of their dances.

Cosette curtsied, and was about to reply but was halted by the sound of nearby voices.

A young woman, no older than her, stood a few feet away leaning against a large marble pillar set against the long eastern wall. Immediately it became apparent who she was, more so as she turned and smiled directly at Cosette in recognition.

"Elizabeth?" she cheered startled.

Lady Elizabeth Treville was one of her oldest and dearest friends; They had known each other since before either one of them could remember. So, it was at many a social gathering like this one; that they found themselves drawn to one another.

Elizabeth had beautiful hair that was a deep brown, like the trees outside, and she had an enviable face, which she always complemented with fitted gowns of immense beauty (and value). She was also French and seemed to have a tendency to attract much attention from the dear other sex- Gentlemen could be rather stupid in Cosette's opinion. They seemed to have the intellectual and emotional capabilities of silverware. That was probably why Elizabeth took such pleasure taunting them; making them all run like lapdogs desperate for her deepest affections.

"Cosette Blakeney, how good to see you again." Elizabeth rushed forward eagerly, embracing her friend in an affectionate embrace. "And William Ffoulkes, as well. I really am honoured tonight."

"Elizabeth," Will greeted warmly, trying not to smile at her sarcastic tone. "Looking lovely as always."

"Thank you, William." Her tone was as smooth as silk as she smiled at him affectionately. She was almost purring as she reached for Cosette's hand and asked, "do you mind if I steal your partner away for a few minutes or so? I have not had the pleasure of her company for far too long, and we ladies have dark secrets that need confessing to one another. I wouldn't burden you with them, and besides, we can't have you monopolising her."

Cosette turned to him, her expression apologetic even if a laugh escaped her lips. "I hope you'll forgive me for a moment, Will?"

"Always," Will nodded, looking honestly relieved as he bowed. Elizabeth Treville was a rather intimidating figure at the best of times, especially when in the company of her friends. With that he turned, leaving them to talk.

Cosette laughed airily at another of Elizabeth's jokes and carefully linked arms as they strolled together. Cosette was glad of Elizabeth's company.

"I do say that you haven't danced a single set with anybody tonight except Sir William," remarked Elizabeth slyly fanning herself, causing Cosette to frown and sigh.

"I don't dance and you know that," she scolded gently "In fact, I just told William that."

"Because you can't dance or won't dance?" Elizabeth pried, causing Cosette to smile mischievously.

"Neither. I merely find it tedious to throw oneself around the room in these ridiculous dresses and shoes," she explained to her companion.

"Come now, I am only teasing you. You are a fine dancer and what's more, there are plenty of young gentlemen in need of a partner this summer evening."

"Now you jest. For whom would I dance with? None are remotely tolerable and all far too big-headed for their own good," she sighed leaning against a large marble pillar. "Besides, Will and I have an understanding that prevents us from having to dance with other more questionable characters."

"Such as that man over there?" Elizabeth pondered, suddenly glancing over her friend's shoulder. Cosette could not help but turn sharply with her, eyes gazing through the crowds. "I do not want to alarm you, but there is a very ill-looking fellow over there who has been staring at you since the start of the dance. Do you know who he is?" Elizabeth gestured to their left with a slight shift of her head.

Cosette glanced over in the direction highlighted and inhaled sharply. Her heart involuntarily fluttered as her line of sight connected with the menacing glare of a gentleman she had never seen before.

He was stood back from the dancing area but one could hardly miss his tall and commanding black visage. The only splash of colour in his entire appearance was the faint streaks of grey that lined his hair.

His hands were clasped together tightly behind his back and that face looked decidedly displeased. His eyes too were most decidedly focused across the room and on her, making Cosette suddenly feel remarkably uncomfortable.

Whoever could he be? And why was he staring?

"I haven't the foggiest clue who that man is." Cosette paused, looking back at Elizabeth and tried to regain her previous composure. "Well, if we are to speak of interested parties, I must say that Lord Harold seems rather intent on you this fine evening."

"What makes you say that?" she demanded raising a lofty eyebrow. The man was the latest to set his eyes on the dashing lady and somehow seemed unable to understand she was not interested in his wooing.

"Because he is coming this way."

"Oh, and here I was thinking he had turned his attention elsewhere," Elizabeth teased.

Immediately Cosette stepped aside with a good-natured laugh. Lord Harold was at their side in an instant, and before she could say another word, was leading Elizabeth out onto the dance floor.

Cosette watched and smiled softly. She was now free to return to her companion of the evening, wherever he had gone. It was against her better instincts though, that she cast one last fleeting glance across the room. However, she was unable to locate her mysterious man in black who had vanished into the swirling crowds.

With a sigh of relief, Cosette forgot all about him. Instead, she strolled slowly over towards a quiet corner, finally noticing the man stood there. It was at the edge of the room, beside a large set of curtains which hung over the doorway to the patio.

"Will, what were you doing back here?" she smiled, startled as he re-appeared.

"Reclaiming you for a moment," he replied, before pausing a moment later, taking her arm in his. "Don't suppose you fancy a stroll around the gardens?"

Immediately Cosette nodded, more than grateful for the offer of escape from the ballroom. Of course, it had nothing to do with the mysterious stranger who she swore she could still feel staring at her from the crowd. A stroll would be perfect, or so she concluded as she nodded.

"I would be delighted."

With that, they strolled out into the night air and began their promenade down the dimly lit patio that ran adjacent to the house, decorated with flickering torches and expanding into the gardens behind them. They instantly felt the change in temperature, for there was a cool nightly breeze in the air which was yet another relief compared to the heat of the tightly packed ballroom.

The best part about it though was the quiet. Despite the faint echoes of laughter and music that lingered in the air, there was very little noise outside. No one else seemed to even be outside. As Cosette gazed around the gardens, she failed to see another living soul.

"I can't help thinking of the fun people would have if they saw us alone out here," Will breathed, all but echoing her thoughts, "what stories would they conjure?"

"Probably something wicked," Cosette laughed softly.

The pair continued on for a moment or two more in silence, cloaked in shadow. She heard Will open his mouth to say something, but he was silenced by what sounded to be nearby voices that rapidly became louder.

Cosette paused also, trying to listen to whatever it was Will had just heard.

They appeared to be coming from down the hall. Who they belonged to, and why they were skulking in the corridors of the palace was beyond her. Save for herself and Will, most of the guests chose to remain in the midst of the party.

"Zounds. It seems we aren't alone down here," she sighed, turning to stare down the empty corridor with curiosity etched into her face.

Before either had a chance to speak, footsteps could be heard approaching from ahead and Cosette looked up as two men appeared from the shadows.

The first man was small and slightly hunched over. Everything about him seemed repulsive, from the way he coughed viciously, to his ill-fitting attire. However, the man beside him seemed a little better dressed and slightly better kept. He was cleanly shaven and had freshly starched clothes on. Yet, as her gaze ascended Cosette felt her heart stop.

It was him… the mysterious man from the ballroom earlier…

With steps that were too graceful, too feline, he approached the edge of the corridor and stopped a few yards from them both.

"Good evening," he began in an all too smooth tone as soon as his eyes made contact. His head bobbed in a neat bow, surprising even Cosette with his sense of decorum. "Pleasant evening is it not?"

"Indeed," Cosette replied hesitantly a moment later. She did not know why it was hard for her to find the words to speak. There was merely something in the man's mannerism that set her on edge, made her spine crawl. There was a darkness etched into the weathered lines of his face. "I do not believe we are acquainted, sir."

"You must pardon me, My Lady, for my poor manners," he replied swiftly, reaching for her hand and placing upon it a delicate kiss. "I am Chauvelin. Paul Armaund Chauvelin of the French Empire. This is Fumier," he explained gesturing to his associate.

Cosette and Will nodded formally.

"Lady Cosette Blakeney, pleased to make your acquaintance."

"You must pardon me for asking," Chauvelin continued swiftly, "but do you know, by chance, a man named Sir Percival Blakeney?"

Cosette nodded hesitantly as she weighed the question in her mind. "Why yes," she replied. "He is my father. This is my friend, Sir William Ffoulkes."

On cue, Will offered the men a bow. Despite the civil nature of the gesture, it was impossible to miss the way his eyes narrowed suspiciously as he did so. Clearly, he felt as uneasy as Cosette did by Chauvelin's presence.

His tone only made it clearer. "I do not mean to sound impertinent, but what are you doing here at his Highness' royal ball? We do not receive many French visitors these days."

"I am here on behalf of France," Chauvelin began, not without an evident sense of pride. "Now that our country is reborn, we wish to revisit our old alliances, such as the one we have with England. I have been sent to liaise with his royal highness, due to my previous experience with English society."

"Really?" scoffed Will. "I'm amazed you chose to return. According to the rumors, your lot prefer a guillotine to amuse you - when you aren't too busy fighting our troops and stealing land abroad."

His tone was one Cosette had never heard before. It was so cold and malicious that it made her start at the very sound of it.

Both Will and Cosette were more than familiar with the situation abroad: it was hard not to be when it was all that seemed to be on anybody's lips, and always seemed the focus of every paper in the country. Of course, the news was nearly always accompanied by the most recent exploits of the Pimpernel and his league. Their entire lives had been filled with speculation and tense whispers of the threat across the sea. Even if things had fallen oddly quiet, and suspiciously peaceful, for the past year, only a fool would consider the tension to be over.

Still, it did little to explain what had got into Will that night. He was normally the most composed and sensible of men. Considering Cosette's often hasty behaviour, they were a complementary pair.

Did Will know the man specifically? Or was this some unusual emotional outburst?

Cosette did not know, but she froze and laid a hand firmly on his arm. She couldn't deny she too felt a sense of unease towards the man. To think Napolean had chosen this man to be his envoy, a man so uneasy in polite society, it was almost a comical. The man lacked any clear social graces. One had to wonder what his purpose truly was.

"We do like to dance every now and then," Fumier interjected gruffly, glaring across at Will as he rebuked the clear insult.

By contrast, Chauvelin seemed unaffected, merely looking bored by the conversation rather than agitated by it.

Cosette did not like this one bit but, there was very little she could do that did not involve snubbing the man, and somehow she had not the courage to try it. Whoever this Monsieur Chauvelin was there was something dangerous about him, a fact that became even clearer a moment later as he smoothly extended a hand towards her.

"Speaking of dancing," he queried, reclaiming the conversation. "Would your ladyship honour me with the next dance? I do believe the next set is about to begin, and it has been so long since I have had the privilege of dancing with a beautiful woman."

Cosette opened her mouth, praying for a decent excuse of any kind to immediately pour out. Unfortunately, no such excuse materialised, instead leaving her with little choice but to nod in polite acceptance.

"I would be honoured," she murmured, placing her hand in his.

At least this way it would also draw an end to the awkward standoff before a duel could be scheduled. Although, by the way, Will and Fumier were continuing to glare at one another she wasn't entirely sure it was true.

Perhaps leaving them alone was not the smartest idea.

Cosette would have protested had Chauvelin not taken that as his cue to start parading back towards the ballroom, escorting her alongside him. She turned and cast Will one last concerned look over her shoulder, smiling in reassurance.

It was only one dance after all. Even she could survive one dance with their odious new friend.

For all his faults, Chauvelin was not a bad dancer. Cosette discovered this detail, much to her amazement, as the music swept into life, all but sweeping him along with it. His figure lacked any real grace or finesse, but he kept the timing right, and somehow knew all the steps as if he were any other gentleman of the English Tonne.

It was his black visage that drew attention to the truth that he was very much not accustomed to this setting. His apparel, and somewhat severe countenance jarred in comparison to the bright, gay assortment of gowns and people on the dance floor. Even now the stares weighed heavily on Cosette's shoulders as she felt the crowds watching in curiosity.

Part of her tried to ignore them, but that was hard when the only alternative left to her was focusing on her partner instead. Something about the intensity with which Chauvelin was glancing at her made the already awkward situation feel a hundred times worse.

"Your mother," he began, "was always a splendid dancer."

"She still is," Cosette corrected. Her tone was not the only thing cold about her as she stepped closer towards him, before stepping back into the line in time to the music. "Are you aquatinted with her?"

"Indeed," Chauvelin purred, "rather intimately, as a matter of fact. Alas, I have not seen her in many years."

"That would perhaps explain why she has never mentioned you, Monsieur. Were you close?"

"Very close," Chauvelin retorted, taking her hand as they turned together. "We knew each other back when she was just a mere actress, auditioning her way around Paris. How far she's come."

"Indeed."

Cosette knew he detected her subtle snub as she fished for information. She was not a cruel person, but something about this Chauvelin riled her. Whether it was his ominous gaze that was so intently fixed upon her, or the arrogance edged into his every movement, she wasn't sure.

She merely thanked God that this dance was only brief and required minimal interaction with her partner. His tone regarding her mother made her skin crawl. It was hard to imagine her mother ever befriending someone completely opposite to her in every way. Soon enough she could return to Will and hopefully forget this awkward interaction.

Speaking of Will, her eyes didn't miss the way he loitered near the edge of the floor, eyes clapped firmly upon them. His whole posture seemed agitated as if waiting for the first available moment to steal her back from their ominous new friend.

Cosette may have been a Blakeney by birth, but she had annoyingly failed to inherit her parents' remarkable ability to converse with complete strangers.

She tried to shoot him a reassuring smile across the floor, but she wasn't convinced how reassuring it actually was. Still, she managed to remain composed as she continued the rest of the dance, moving in time but all but ignoring her partner.

Her relief was palpable as the music eventually came to its final note, and the couples surrounding them curtseyed and bowed to one another.

Cosette followed their lead, preparing to somehow disappear into the throngs of people behind her as soon as she possibly could. Needless to say, she was almost overjoyed to hear the new voice that suddenly piped up behind her instead.

"There you are, Ma dear," it cheered, saving her from the awkward task of excusing herself.

Of course, there was always one man who would come to her rescue: her father.

Chauvelin turned sharply. Cosette mirrored his action, a smile rising automatically in relief. However, it died before it ever reached her lips as she noticed for the first time, a very different Percy to the one Cosette was accustomed to.

Everything about his demeanour seemed instantly different, so much so that Cosette barely recognised him. Both he, and Chauvelin, had frozen locking eyes with one another.

It took a second or two before they resumed their normal stances, and even then Cosette felt as if one spark would ignite some sort of explosion between the pair of them.

Cosette noticed the change in their eyes instantly. A sharp harshness, full of fury. She also noticed Will, stood just beside her father and looking every bit as unsettled as she.

"Sir Percy," Chauvelin declared, with a slight snarl.

"Monsieur Chaufelong," he greeted innocently.

"Really? Come now, Sir Percy. I don't see you for nearly ten years, and you start forgetting my name? Don't tell me you've become forgetful in your old age?" His grin widened as he finished, and something in his countenance turned feral and deadly, more so than Cosette had ever seen another man look.

"Oh, Chauvelin. Of course, I have trouble with the French language I do. All the names seem to blur together," Percy chuckled idiotically.

Cosette couldn't take it anymore. "You two know each other?" she interjected, wishing to pull their attention away quickly.

"Indeed, my dear," Chauvelin nodded stiffly. "Your father and I knew each other many years ago."

" _Many_ years ago, which leads me to ask what you are doing here Monsieur Chaumbertin?" her father continued. "It has been a monstrously long time since I last had the pleasure of seeing your charming face. I had heard you had chosen to start a quiet life in some quaint little village or so. Seems I was misinformed."

Silence.

"Indeed you were, Sir Percy. I am here on state business, I am sure it would be far too boring for you," he snapped. "I have been chosen by the Emperor himself to liaise with English society, so I am fortunately returned to your English soil once again."

"Permanently?" Will asked icily. If she had not known better, Cosette would have almost sworn that was a threat. "Or shall you be leaving?"

Chauvelin, however, seemed undisturbed. If anything, he looked positively amused by the effect he was having upon both men. "I shall be leaving this party shortly, but as for England? I am afraid I shall not be leaving until I have completed my aims."

"So we shall be seeing more of you then?" Cosette enquired innocently.

"You can be assured you have indeed not seen the last of me." He smiled and nodded at her once more.

"How reassuring," Percy grinned sternly. He approached Chauvelin, each movement smooth as silk, even if the venom in his eyes remained.

"Always good to see you haven't changed Sir Percy, give my regards to Marguerite? And your son, Thomas? Isn't it?" he remarked slyly.

Cosette could not help it as she suddenly shivered.

"You have such a wondrous daughter, too, who I must thank for honouring me with her company this evening."

Percy frowned. "Of course. Cosette, Will, we are leaving now."

He turned on his heels with barely a backward glance, or his usual dramatic flair, and disappeared into the crowd. It was clear he was expecting them to follow.

Undeterred by the blatant social snub, Chauvelin turned his attention immediately back towards Cosette. "Au revoir, mademoiselle. You really do look just like your mother… maybe I will see you sometime?"

"Perhaps. Au revoir." Cosette felt frozen to the spot, unsure what exactly was happening. It was only as Will gently pulled on her hand that she began to move, leaving the whole disastrous situation behind.

Instead, she hastily strode after the rapidly disappearing figure of her father. Despite calling his name, it took a second before finally, Percy turned around, grinding to a halt in the entrance hall.

"What was that?"

He hardly missed a beat as he batted aside his daughter's question. "What was what?"

"That display," Cosette demanded irritated. Percy just shook his head.

"I have no idea what you are on about. Will, I do believe your parents are looking for you," he sighed, the fire still evident in his eyes. So much so that Will just nodded obediently.

"I'll see you soon," he smiled bowing in farewell to Cosette. "Thank you for the dances."

"Anytime," came her swift and gentle reply.

She turned once more to see her father striding towards the awaiting carriage, and her anxiously waiting mother. Cosette sighed and also followed obediently. She would figure this out later.

It seemed that for now, there was nothing more to say.


	5. Chapter 4

**_My god, it's warm in England at the moment. I'm actually sweltering as I write this, hiding in the shade. I hope you're all coping with summer, wherever you are. It would be great to hear from you guys, as I know you're reading this so some feedback would be brilliant. All the best, Thesilentmage x_**

* * *

Silence was not normally associated with Percy Blakeney. It was unusual for a carriage ride to be so quiet - or so tense. In fact, Cosette could only ever remember a handful of times throughout her entire life when her parents had been this silent. Normally there was something drastic involved, and as hard as she tried, she couldn't understand how their encounter with Chauvelin came under that term.

Yes, he had been awfully forward in respect of his questioning about her family. The insufferable man clearly held little regard for the social customs of high society, yet there was something more behind his interrogative line of query… there had been such hostility between him and her father.

Cosette had sensed his disappointment and vexation when her father had inadvertently interrupted their Tête à Tête. It was as if the air had curdled between the two men.

Oh, what could be so odd about this Frenchman? Indeed he wasn't a social aristo – but was his fashion so bad as to cause Percy this much distress? She hoped not, otherwise, she would need to attend to her father's priorities… this was going to cause trouble. She knew it.

She was on the verge of asking her father about it there and then, but the way her parents whispered to each other continually told her it would be fruitless to try. Rather, she resigned herself to sit there and try to catch the odd word. Neither paid much attention to her as she sat innocently by.

As unfamiliar as Cosette was with this tense silence, she knew her parents well enough to realise now was not the time for questions. The look on her father's face alone was dark enough, and tense enough, as he stared out of the carriage window that she was almost scared to breathe too loudly else she provoke his ire.

Instead, she sat quietly, watching intently as her mother gently rested her hand against her husband's, saying nothing but calmly reassuring him as she had so many times before. It was one of the best things about them: their complete unity. They always seemed to know what the other was thinking or feeling which was particularly useful right now as Cosette had very little understanding of either.

Cosette sat silently, resting her head on her shoulder as she fought the urge to sleep. The rest of the journey she sat listening to the rhythmic sound of horses hooves on the road and feeling the last rays of moonlight on her face.

Finally, they arrived home.

"Cosette, Cherie, we are home again," her mother whispered gently.

Cosette opened her eyes slowly and yawned.

Percy smiled. "You seem tired?"

"It was a most interesting evening," she replied knowingly, taking his hand and dropping beside him. She waited for her mother before taking her father's arm and striding up the steps before her.

As they passed through the open doorway, Cosette cast a nod at Shivers, their ever faithful butler. She could never quite tell if he ever actually went to bed, or if he had, how he had managed to rouse himself for their arrival at this unholy hour. Some things never changed.

It was good to be back at Blakeney Manor, concluded Cosette. All she wanted was to go to sleep and put this absurd night behind them.

As the party drew into the hallway, Cosette turned to her parents. With a kiss to each of their cheeks, Cosette bid them both a "good night."

They watched her slowly trail upstairs to her room, where Amelia was waiting faithfully.

Thomas was already abed, having apparently fallen asleep some hours ago after climbing the grand oak tree beside the manor. If Percy had not done the same as a child, he would have been far more concerned by the news of his son's exploits.

So young, and yet both their children showed far more of their parents' adventurous traits.

Marguerite watched happily as Cosette ascended the steps, before turning and following her husband into the nearby drawing room as was per their usual routine.

The windows had been opened, thankfully, filling the air with a warm and floral odour. She also noted that a tray of tea had been displayed for them. She smiled gratefully and slid into the nearest chair.

Percy strode around the room for a moment until finally he stopped and gazed out of the window beside him.

Marguerite immediately recognised that face – she had seen it during the first years of their marriage. The distance and coldness were evident in his eyes. She had vowed that he should never gaze at her with those eyes again.

She sighed. "Percy, please sit down."

"I can not, ma dear. Not when our supposedly retired friend is back here, out of the blue," he groaned calmly. The window sill creaked beneath his palm as he tightened his grip on the ledge. "That alone would be troubling enough without the fact he is clearly up to something. Why else would he choose to return after he swore never to do so in exchange for our saving his daughter's life? That, and he chose to attend a public ball? It can only mean that he wanted me to see him tonight. He wants me to know he is back, and up to something."

"We can't control that fact Percy. You said it yourself, he is here on orders from Napoleon himself-"

"-If he's even telling the truth," Percy interjected, only to be silenced by the tired look his wife shot towards him.

"Regardless," she continued, urging him to sit in the empty seat. "We can only choose how we react to this change of events," Marguerite reminded him.

He turned and smiled at her warmly. "Indeed."

With that he obeyed his wife's silent plea, turning away from the window and taking his seat beside her.

Taking that as her cue, Marguerite leaned forward. Her slender hands reached for the awaiting teapot which was exactly where Shivers had left it on the nearest table. She poured the tea, watching as it flowed from the spout to the fine china cup below. Carefully she handed the cup to her husband and repeated the process for herself.

Tea always helped. That, and time to reflect. Whatever was happening with their old adversary, spiralling into paranoid frenzies helped neither man nor beast.

Her lips hovered on the rim as she mused softly, "Do you think he plans to contact Fluerette whilst he's here?"

If Percy was surprised by her question he gave not the slightest indication of it. Instead, he merely looked distracted as he drank from his own cup. "I haven't the slightest clue, Margo."

"Should we not perhaps inform her if she does not already know? Maybe she could be an ally in all this?"

"How so?"

"She could ask her father what he is really doing here, or even gather some more information. If there is anyone Chauvelin may be willing to confide in, or even perhaps lower his guard around, it will be his only child."

"I wonder whether we give too much credit to Chauvelin's paternal instincts, ma dear. It isn't as if he has ever written to her in any great depths, or enquired about visiting her, despite our agreement."

"I can hardly think of it, now that he is so close to her. The idea of not being to see one's children, watching them marry, or even meeting their grandchildren…" Her voice hitched as it became thick with emotion.

The very idea was enough to cause her heart to ache in her chest. How anybody could face that reality was beyond her comprehension. Then again, this was Chauvelin they were discussing. The man defied all logical behaviour and emotion. Perhaps Percy was right, and he would not feel the paternal urge to visit his daughter, or her ever-growing family, during his stay in England. He had never requested to do so in the near fifteen years since their arrangement had been made. Why would he change that now?

"Chauvelin is an unpredictable fellow," Percy sighed as if reading her mind. His expression was tender as he watched her mind turning. "To try and get into his head is a dangerous endeavour. One best avoided unless absolutely necessary."

"And do you believe it necessary?"

"That remains to be seen." Percy's expression darkened as he sat back in his chair, hands clasped together in thought. It was clear Percy would be watching the future very closely indeed. "I worry about Cosette and Thomas. I know we agreed never to mention the Pimpernel to them, but after tonight I wonder if we are making the right decision."

"Do you want to tell them about that? All that we endured?" Marguerite frowned, taking his hand in hers. "Percy… those days are over now. Revealing the dangers to our children only puts us all in a far too precarious position."

"I know, I know." He did know. The Pimpernel was supposed to be gone. He had given his life in many ways over the years but sealed other parts so completely to keep them safe. It would only get more complicated. "I would burn in hell to keep our children safe."

"What if someone where to find out? What if they accidentally tell someone?" Marguerite continued, eyes wide with panic at the thought. "We can not risk it, Percy. Besides, Chauvelin will only be interested in us. He may not even involve Cosette or Thomas."

"If only we could be so sure," Percy groaned, thinking back to the comment Chauvelin had made. "So we don't tell them for now? We keep it silent, and watch Chaumbertin's every move."

"Exactly. I don't think we should say anything just yet," sighed Marguerite. "Not till they are older, and more conditioned to this world we live in. Let them be children a little while longer."

Percy grinned. "Alright then," he smiled leaning over gently. "But I will be damned if I let Monsieur Chauvelin interfere with my family once more. We've made it this far in our lives, Margo and I won't let him ruin all we've built together."

Marguerite smiled as his lips met hers. Dear Percy. What was she going to do with him?

* * *

Blakeney manor was never usually quiet. Between the vibrancy of the Blakeneys' and the cheerful nature of the household that lived there, silence was a rare commodity. Even this late at night, laughter was usually heard echoing from the servant halls below, or some whisper was usually distinguishable from the rooms above.

So, needless to say, when Cosette was met with nothing but silent, pitch black hallways that night, she found herself unsettled.

Every creak of the floorboards, though familiar, seemed eerie in the silence. It was as if she had entered 'The Castle of Otranto' itself, or so she laughed to herself weakly as she proceeded towards her room at the end of the hall. There was something about being in a house so big, surrounded by so many memories and previous lives. One couldn't help but sometimes feel as if they were surrounded by echoes… whispers… stories one heard by the fire.

Take the hall nearest her bedroom for example. The way the moonlight shone through the large glass window at the end of the corridor painted the world in glistening white light, and long shadows that always seemed to be moving. Such shadows were visible tonight as Cosette made her way to her room.

Yet, before she had reached her destination, she paused and turned to the door beside her own. It was an old habit of hers to do this, to check on her sleeping brother before she herself retired for the night. It was why she told Amelia to go on ahead and wait for her in her room. She would only be a moment or two.

Amelia curtsied and did as she was bid, leaving Cosette to her sisterly duty.

She paused, candle in hand as she gently pushed the door open and peered inside. The sight was one she was more than accustomed to.

All was dark inside the room, with the great windows latched shut, and all candles extinguished in their stands. To anyone else, everything would have appeared as it should have. But, when glancing at the bed in the centre of the room, and the mass squirming beneath the covers, Cosette knew exactly what was amiss.

The occupant of the room was not yet asleep. Despite the late hour, and darkness of the room he seemed wide awake, especially as Cosette heard the faint rustle of covers being rapidly drawn up as if to hide him beneath them.

It was unfortunate she had seen this routine once too many times to fall for it.

"Still not asleep?" she smiled from the doorway.

A small groan met her ears as the figure slowly sat upright. Well, that answered that then.

"Should have guessed," she smirked, stepping closer into the room and perching on the edge of the mattress. "As if you do anything you are told."

"Says you," Thomas shot back sleepily, rubbing his eyes with his hands. It was at that moment Cosette couldn't help but picture him as the little boy he had been years ago. The candlelight only furthered the somewhat angelic hue of his features, making him seem so soft and innocent, swaddled in his sheets and nightgown.

Cosette could feel the swell of sisterly love inside her. She would do anything for Thomas. He would always be that precious little bundle to her, handed to her by her parents; her baby brother.

"Yes, but I am older than you," Cosette continued smoothly. "I am allowed to misbehave and do as I wish. I shall have to grow up sooner than you."

Thomas moaned, and flopped back down against the mattress. "Unfair."

"Just so." Cosette chuckled softly under her breath and reached out to pat her brother's arm affectionately. How like their father he seemed when he spoke like that. "You really should try and sleep now. Papa will be most cross if he finds you still awake when he comes to bed soon."

"But sleeping is dull."

"I know," Cosette grinned, suddenly leaning in close as her voice took on a mischievous tone. "But, if you don't try and sleep I shan't be able to tell you tomorrow all about the miserable, mysterious villain that was at the ball tonight and how Papa nearly fought him away from the party."

Cosette knew she'd been successful immediately. The way her brother's eyes widened in the moonlight told her everything.

"You're making it up!" he gasped, bolting back upright.

"Am not."

"Am too."

"Am not, and I shall leave if you don't wish to hear it."

Thomas fell silent. "Wait, Settie… I mean… if you should feel inclined to tell me then… I wouldn't mind," he stammered, sheepishly toying with the sheets and settling back against the pillows again.

"Alright then, but you promise not to tell a soul?"

He crossed his heart as he had always done when swearing a valid oath, and nodded earnestly. "Swear."

"Well…" she began. "He was very small, with the most miserable pointed nose you've ever seen, like a witch. He also was French and dressed entirely in black. It looked like he'd fallen from a funeral procession. I swear, and he was skulking about in the shadows with an evil henchman."

"What was his name?"

"Chauvelin - a dastardly name if ever there was one."

All at once, Thomas burst into another fit of giggles as he lay against the pillows. "Was he terrifying?"

"Beyond belief," Cosette gasped, clasping a hand to her chest theatrically in mock horror. "I all but swooned when he asked me to dance. If Papa and Will had not been there, I fear what would have happened."

"Papa saved you?"

"Exactly," Cosette nodded, replaying the moment in her head. "Now, I kept up my end of the bargain. It's your turn. Sleep, Tommy, and I'll tell you more tomorrow."

"Promise?"

"I swear." With a soft kiss to his forehead, Cosette slid to her feet. She reclaimed her candle from the nightstand and eased towards the door again. "Good night. I love you."

"Love you too, 'Settie."

Her heart fluttered at the warmth and affection those words surged within her. In fact, for the few brief moments it took her to return to her room, she felt content again. It could have been any other night as all thought of the ball vanished.

Only temporarily though, it seemed. The moment Cosette re-entered her room, she was greeted not only by Amelia but her numerous questions of the evening and its events. It was their routine, after all, to discuss any social occasion Cosette attended.

Their gossip and girlish teasing usually was the highlight of the evening. It made the whole ordeal bearable to watch Amelia's face as she regaled her with tales of faux pas, dances and as many rumours as she could.

Still, the hour was late and Cosette could not help but feel guilty at keeping her maid from her eagerly awaiting bed.

"You don't have to assist me into bed, Amelia," she smiled. "I can manage."

It was well and good saying it, but considering the way her fingers fumbled at the ties of her dress, it was clear she could not manage alone.

"Your ladyship," Amelia protested kindly. The way she stepped forward made it clear she wasn't going anywhere soon. "It is no trouble, and technically it is my responsibility."

"But it's remarkably late," she remarked in concern. "You should go to bed."

As much as their status divided them into their supposed roles, Cosette had never felt comfortable asking for more than absolutely necessary from the household staff. Many in her parents employ had always been kind to her and could be considered friends more than merely hired help. They were a part of Blakeney Manor, and the estate surrounding it.

"And leave you to manage all alone?" Amelia countered, shaking her head. "What kind of ladies maid would that make me? It isn't so late, and I'll manage."

"As long as you're sure."

"Positive," Amelia replied firmly, smiling as she began to unlace the back of Cosette's gown with obvious skill and familiarity. There was clearly nothing more to be said on that matter. Not when there were more exciting and pressing topics to be discussed instead. "Besides, I want to hear everything about tonight. I've heard his Highness's balls are splendid."

For the following minutes, their conversation stayed firmly on the topic of Monsieur Chauvelin and the bizarre ball.

As their conversation continued Amelia assisted Cosette as she thankfully cast aside her ball attire, and changed into her far comfier nightgown. Cosette then proceeded towards the stool in front of her dresser.

Carefully, Amelia followed. Taking her position behind her, she began sliding the numerous pins from her mistresses hair and let Cosette's curls fall naturally.

"Thank you, as always," Cosette sighed gratefully. "You're my saviour."

Amelia couldn't help the affectionate smirk that settled on the side of her lips. "I'm only doing my job," she replied casually, gathering the few remaining pins and returning them to the ornate jewellery box on the dresser.

"Well, I don't know how I'd cope without you. So, thank you, my dashing white knight."

Amelia rolled her eyes discreetly. "You're ridiculous."

"Ridiculously tired. After the excitement tonight I feel I could sleep for a week."

"I wonder why on earth his presence caused such a commotion, especially with his Lordship and Sir Ffoulkes?"

"Something about him, and his name… it feels like I should know more than I do." There was nothing Cosette hated more than not knowing. It caused her skin to crawl in irritation and her heart to sink uncomfortably. "I know I've heard his name before. But where?"

"Perhaps Lord and Lady Blakeney have mentioned it before?" Amelia paused, reaching across the dresser for the pale blue ribbon that sat cast upon it. With nimble fingers she wound it into Cosette's locks as per their routine, pulling them back into a loose braid. "If your mother did know him in the past then it would be more than likely."

"I have no idea," Cosette surrendered, stifling the yawn that dared to escape her lips. "I guess I'll have to wait and see."

Amelia nodded, patting her on the arm gently. "It'll all be revealed in time. I'm sure of it."

"You're probably right as always," Cosette agreed. She turned, flashing Amelia with one last smile as she bid her, "good night."

"Good night, your Ladyship. See you in the morning."

As the door closed behind her, Cosette turned back towards the mirror. Her heart sank as she sighed, resting her head against her fist. Despite Amelia's words of wisdom the nagging sensation failed to abate as she muddled the name over one last time.

Chauvelin. Chauvelin… What was it that made this mysterious Frenchman so damn important? - then she felt it, like a lightning bolt through the heart.

She realised exactly the reason for Will's defensive, hostile behaviour. She realised exactly why the man seemed eerily familiar not only to herself but everyone else around her.

Chauvelin.

They knew that name, and as her mind cast backward it was immediately apparent why. It was a name she had read repeatedly throughout her lifetime, splashed across paper after paper, detailing the Pimpernel's latest adventures foiling the French government - and more importantly their chief advisor for security, who was none other than Paul Armaund Chauvelin.

A curse filled the air as she realised her stupidity. How could she have missed something as obvious as this? No wonder Will had turned sour the moment the man had introduced himself. No wonder her father had also behaved so appallingly. Had she realised the true extent of the man's identity she probably would have behaved similarly.

The fact the man had been dismissed from his position of power years before made no difference. Someone as dangerous as he was described to be, would always be a threat. Now she really wanted to know what he was doing here.

Did it have something to do with the Pimpernel?

Without another thought, she turned, marching towards the bed. She dropped to her knees, leaning forward as she cast her attention to the dusty space that existed beneath it and the numerous articles that had been cast into it over the years. Hidden out of sight were numerous boxes, trunks and other miscellaneous items. However, there was only one she was after right then.

Her arm extended. Determinedly she fumbled, feeling about until her fingers brushed against the side of the box she was after. With a huff she swiped it closer, pulling her treasure towards her from underneath the bed, which was easier said than done.

It took several attempts until she had successfully extracted the dust covered box. Even then, a cough escaped her lips as she swiped the coating aside, revealing the faded scrawl she had written on top all those years ago. Tilting it toward the candlelight three simple words stared back at her: _The Scarlet Pimpernel._

"Found you," she proclaimed triumphantly, placing it on the edge of her bed.

Sitting back beside it, she pulled back the lid, staring victoriously at the contents inside. Endless clippings, drawings, mementos - it was her trove she had gathered over the years for her idol. Digging to the bottom, she managed to find what she was after.

There, bundled together, were numerous articles about the Pimpernel from a time where she was just old enough to read them. How excited she had been, always waiting for her father to finish with his morning paper so that she could steal it away to read and later stash away in this very collection.

How often she'd read them, savouring every word she'd consumed whether by candlelight or from the sunlight that streamed through the window. Her eyes drifted across the text, rereading familiar stories that she had once known by heart. It felt surreal to think she'd been living in one that night, especially as her eyes drifted across the cursed name.

There. She'd been right. Seeing the name actually in print only made her heart sink more, even as she turned the pages, desperately revisiting a world she had forgotten. The man was everything she had ever imagined him to be and more.

Now that he was longer just in the pages of newspapers, but a part of her real world, Cosette found her interest in the man multiply tenfold.

Fanned around her, the papers lay in a bizarre mosaic of work. Had she had the energy it was clear Cosette would have finished analysing the entire contents of her collection for the remainder of the night. However, it was clear what she really wanted more was sleep. The sluggish warmth from the summer night air only made her drowsiness worse. It took all her remaining strength to flop beneath the drawn back covers as unconsciousness overcame her.

Her investigation would just have to wait till morning.


	6. Chapter 5

**_Hi guys! Finally, we_ _get to the action I know you've been waiting for. There's plenty more to come as well. As always, thank you to those who have messaged me to let me know you like what I'm writing. I can see people are reading this but I love to actually hear from you guys - so the more reviews and feedback, the better. I just like to know people are enjoying what I'm working on, as that's the whole point of this x Thesilentmage_**

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Sleep and Percy Blakeney were old rivals. In fact, sleep was probably the only thing Percy considered in all the world to be as elusive as the Pimpernel himself.

For as long as he could remember it had always been thus. Maybe it was a life full of being on the run, bad dreams, and raising two small children, but Percy Blakeney rarely seemed to sleep. Furthermore, when he did manage to steal a few precious hours he would often wake again, unable to return to his slumber.

It had never truly been much of issue considering, as the Pimpernel, he had hardly had any time to sleep, always being on the run from someone or the other. Once his children had entered his life, who would often cry or require attention at all hours of the night, yet again sleep had not been a priority.

Of course, everything had changed when Marguerite had entered his life. Sleeping beside her had somehow turned out to be the tonic Percy needed to be able to actually rest a while, safe and content in the arms of the one he loved most. Well, most of the time that was.

Tonight was an exception: it was too warm.

Usually, the one thing England could depend upon was the lack of a tropical summer, unlike the ones that could be found on the continent. England always experienced bursts of heat, but they were quickly dispelled in a flurry of summer storms. Unfortunately for Percy, this did not appear to be the case tonight.

The air was thick and heavy, suffocating everyone with the remnants of the day's heat. Even in the darkness of the night, the world did not seem still. Moonlight danced on the fields beyond his open windows, and there was silence— such silence.

It was impossible. How could he possibly sleep? Let alone with all the sheets on top of him. Summer was meant to be cold and wet, not actually… summery.

With a heavy groan, Percy rolled over. He maliciously kicked, pushing the sheets back and finally felt a little cooler. By contrast, beside him, Marguerite looked peaceful and asleep. Her face was damp with the heat but she seemed calm as she slept soundly on.

Percy rubbed the back of his neck irritably and sighed. How was a man meant to breathe in this? Sink him if he ever managed to get some sleep.

"Percy, my love," Marguerite whispered dreamily from her pillow. "Try to sleep."

"I cannot sleep," he whimpered, surprised to hear his wife was not, in fact, asleep as she appeared to be.

Marguerite sighed and nestled into his frame. "If the reason you can't sleep is because of Chauvelin, then we agreed not to mention it tonight. However, if it is this stuffy weather, then it simply means that a storm is coming, and with it, cooler times," she explained patiently, oddly like she was talking to a child. "You must just be patient."

"Fine, but only because I know you to be right."

"Aren't I always?" she teased, kissing his cheek and settling into the mattress. Percy followed her example, but even he felt a strong sense of unease.

In the other half of the house, Cosette also felt uneasy. Maybe it was the revelation she had received after the conversation earlier, or maybe it was this awful heat. Whatever it was that was responsible, how was she to sleep?

Her mind was afire with a thousand questions. That, and she felt constricted under all her sheets. Out of frustration, she had proceeded to hurl them onto the floor beside her hours ago. As a replacement, she had merely grabbed a thin dressing robe and laid it on top of her. Under the lightweight material she had been able to toss herself into a lazy slumber, but it was as if the moment her eyes shut, then she found herself awake again.

Cosette sighed in defeat.

Sluggishly, she sat up and slid herself out of bed. Making her way across the room, her hands carefully opened the large windows, and thankfully a breeze entered the room.

Still, despite the relief it brought, Cosette still felt stuffy. The breeze was only weak, hardly able to waft her curtains, let alone cool her room to a suitable temperature. There was nothing else for it. It was clear if she was ever to find peace she had to find somewhere else that was far cooler, just for five minutes.

Drawing her robe about herself tightly, Cosette retrieved the candle left beside her bed. Her hands lit it as best she could in the darkness and, following its flickering glow, tiptoed to the steps outside her room.

All was silent and still considering the hour. Everyone was abed as she expected them to be. Still, it did not change the fact that the silence was unnerving. It made every single tiny whisper feel like an echo. The creak from the stairs alone echoed as if it were an orchestra playing.

Wincing as she tried not to rouse the entire house, Cosette followed her candlelight and explored a little longer. For the next few minutes, she crept in and out of the house checking for rooms which the servants had not locked, and were more importantly, empty.

After what felt like an eon, she finally found herself in the drawing room. Testing the handle, as she had on every room she had passed that night, she was immediately relieved to find it swung open with ease. Peeling the door back, she entered quietly was rewarded by the realisation it was indeed, reasonably cool in here.

The drawing room was one the nicest rooms in the house, which was saying something considering the general splendour of Blakeney Manor. There was just an understated elegance to the decor despite the smaller size of the room. It certainly had one of the best views the house had to offer, with a balcony behind the two French doors across the room.

It was to the balcony Cosette headed eagerly. Already the prospect of fresh air was enough to make her heart skip a beat.

Cosette stepped forward and turned the doorknobs. Slowly they swung open onto the still warm stone balcony that radiated under her bare feet. She stepped outside and stretched her arms widely. In response, a light wind blew around her, causing her nightgown to flutter.

Glancing up it was clear to see that the night sky was a murky grey, full of angry thunderclouds. It could only mean one thing; a storm was on the way. Even from where she was stood, Cosette could see the traces of distant raindrops falling over the hilly landscape in the distance. They were only made clearer by a sudden stark white burst of lightning.

Eagerly, she could not wait until the downpour swept across the miles of woodland and reached them.

Around her, the grounds were quiet and empty. It was eerie to see the world so grey and empty. The gloom seemed to be haunting and Cosette shivered. She would have been grateful if it wasn't for the deep feeling that still plagued her. It was almost as if she could feel someone was out there watching her. It was thoroughly ridiculous to believe so but… still, this feeling would just not go.

She knew it was merely the remainder of her encounter with Monsieur Chauvelin that was to blame for this silly paranoia. All evening the man had haunted her thoughts, unsettling her the moment he had laid his eyes on her across the assembly room. It was the only explanation for it. Cosette may have been an avid reader, but her head was not prone to fancies. All she needed was a good night sleep, and hopefully, the ordeal would be forgotten. That, or perhaps she would be able to coax some answers from her oh-so-reluctant parents.

She shook her head and turned as if to go back inside when she stopped abruptly.

To this day she was never quite certain of what it was that made her halt her step at that exact moment, hand outstretched towards the door, head turned away.

There must have been the snap of a twig… the echo of a breath… or even the mistimed pattering of footsteps in the grounds beyond.

Whatever it was, Cosette froze. Her eyes widened. Her heart skipped as she felt the nauseating sensation she was being watched. It was as if the air around her had suddenly compressed under the pressure of someone's gaze, boring into her back. But that was utterly ludicrous, and she knew it.

Shaking her head in confusion, Cosette turned again and took another step forward back into the house.

But there it was again!… The faint rustle of what sounded like footsteps in the shrubbery beyond told her she wasn't imagining it. Someone was definitely out there with her, but who? The gardeners were all definitely abed at this hour, as were all the servants in the other half of the house.

So who would be prowling in the garden at this time of morning? A burglar? Was it merely an animal of some kind?

Cosette's heart all but stopped as she narrowed her eyes, peering into the gloom as she dared a half step back outwards.

In the corner of her eye, she could see it. There was a dark silhouette, standing beneath the great oak a few yards ahead of her.

A chill ran through her.

Was it merely her imagination running wild? She could see nothing in the gloom except the outline of a figure until a moment later when the lightning flashed across the sky and bathed the grounds in a stark white glow. The burst of light was enough. It was only for a second, but even she knew that face.

She gasped and hurried inside, closing the door behind her. She locked the bolt and stood paralysed with fear. So much so, in fact, that she hardly blinked as she dropped the candle holder to the floor, letting the flame splutter out as it hit the plush carpet beneath her.

What to do? Why was he here? Why was Chauvelin here?

So she had been right, after all, the man wasn't as he appeared.

She didn't know what to do. Good lord- what if her parents found out… Her parents! They were asleep upstairs…

Cosette hurtled into the hall, utterly blind in the impenetrable dark. Quickly she marched towards what she assumed was the foyer, gripping a hand against the wall to remain rooted. She would just check that Shivers had locked the door, it wouldn't do if he-

She stopped.

There was a slow scratching sound coming from in front of her. She watched amazed as the door slowly swung open. There were two, possibly three hushed voices around her. Figures seemed to be in her doorway- and they'd managed to pick the door lock.

She shook her head in fear; if she ran they'd see her. It left her with very little choice.

Instantly her hand fumbled into the darkness around her. Her mind knew where she was stood, and as she reached out she was rewarded. Taking a step back she shrouded herself in the darkness of the corridor and waited for a second.

Cosette could see them just, in the pale light of the hallway. There were two that she could see in the moonlight, and they were heading towards her.

She paused and waited until the first figure past her and the second was directly in front of her. Then she pounced.

With all her might, she brought down the vase heavily onto his skull. It shattered violently and the air was filled with his cry as he crumpled to the floor.

Fumier? she pondered. Unfortunately, his face was covered in shadows so she could not be certain. But she had no time for questions as it was.

Instead, she turned. Having bought herself a few valuable seconds of surprise, she bolted for all she was worth across the hallway and towards the grand foyer.

The other intruder stood there dumbly as his mind caught up with him, forcing him to sprint after her in pursuit.

His footsteps rang out heavily on the marble floor, gaining on her with every second. Cosette only made it a so far before she felt arms coiled about her, pulling her backward into her assailant's grasp.

A strangled cry of panic filled the air as Cosette struggled, thrashing against her captor.

He groaned heavily in pain as her elbow caught a well-aimed thrust into his stomach and staggered backward, allowing her freedom to move.

Cosette's brain had frozen in confusion.

What were these men doing here? Why? What was this whole problem of which she knew so little? It felt like she were waist deep in quicksand. No way of escape and the more she struggled against it, the further she sunk. It was why she silenced her mind, refusing herself to think of anything except what mattered in that exact moment.

Survival.

Her heart pounded. Her eyes turned. Her whole being began to tremble with adrenaline as she pivoted and leaped towards the nearby wall.

Her hands clawed upwards as she reached for where the crest hung. A delicate piece of metalwork, the crest consisted of two interlocked swords, pinned together behind the Blakeney family shield. Never before had Cosette been so thankful for her family's ostentatious choice in decor, especially as she released the nearest sword from it.

As if instinctively, she swiveled it dangerously and rounded back on to her assailant.

Clearly, these men had been prepared as the man before her reached down and drew his own weapon from his side. Why he had brought one was a mystery: Had they been expecting trouble? Or was it merely for intimidation?

Either way, it was working. His blade glistened menacingly in the moonlight striking fear directly into her soul. He was also obviously trained. His stance and strength indicated years of practise and dedication. She only prayed her skill would be enough.

Cosette gulped remembering her numerous sessions in the main hall. What was it Percy had always said? Never show an opponent fear. Then again, saying it when training rather than against an actual opponent were two very separate things.

Regardless, Cosette clasped the curved grip of the sword's hilt, just under the guard in a light grip, able to twist it easily with her wrist.

The man stopped for a second, beginning to circle her.

She waited till he tried to lunge before she turned behind him, now standing where he had just stood. She watched in mute horror as he swung at her.

The man moved forward, thrusting the sword in her direction. His legs were bent, and his right arm was holding where the foil should have been, straight at her.

Cosette retreated, two quick galloping steps; then when she felt she was at a safe distance, lunged forward with her sword extended. The man dipped deftly to the left of her sword, spun around, then came back from below with his own, clashing against Cosette's.

The two blades slid against each other until they reached a midpoint, then held. Cosette could feel the strength through his sword, and it took all her strength to hold his blade there. Her arms quickly begun shaking, but she was surprised to see she continued to hold him back.

At last, he broke away and backed off. Cosette watched her him dip and spin a few times, and begun to figure him out.

Continuously he made effort filled grunts. It was rather confusing, one-minute grunting and swerving in a direction, only to pull back and arc the sword at her. Cosette struggled but attempted his move. In doing so she swung it quickly and managed to nick his waistcoat, sending buttons raining down on the floor.

He yelled angrily lunging for her again.

Cosette ducked and dashed past him, however, she failed to see the wall in front of her. Her teeth sang as she collided face-first. She hissed, staggering back.

He lunged again but she clashed three times before he disengaged.

Her pulse raced, and her heartbeat filled her ears. She felt an energy coursing through her.

Their swords clashed once again, and the air was filled with both of their grunts.

Her sword slid down her opponents, causing him to disengage again. She lunged sweeping her sword from left to right, slicing his waistcoat. He stumbled toppling over the table and lying on the floor in a pile of splintered wood and shattered glass.

Someone had to have heard that right?

She cheered almost in surprise at her victory. Then, though, it was when she realised her mistake. She had been so focused on this one man she hadn't seen the third creeping behind her.

She turned just too late. Watching as he swung the table leg at her head, sending her flying, and banishing her instantly to the realms of unconsciousness. All she saw as her eyes closed was the grinning face of Chauvelin.

Marguerite heard it: the loud crash and the cry. Whether it was a mother's instinct or not, something inside of her churned viciously, and her heart tightened in fear. She looked across at her husband, who was already on his feet. Percy stood in the doorway pistol in hand. She leaped out of bed and ran towards the door.

"Percy, what was that?"

His head cocked round. Something in her heart made her want to cry out, his eyes were open wildly. She could almost see the adrenaline coursing through his veins: it was something she hadn't seen for quite some time. Only before, when they were surrounded by garrison or blood was in the air. It was the Pimpernel emerging from beneath him. Sir Percy was almost shed as the new skin took form. Marguerite both loved and feared this side. It was a side full of danger. Instantly she felt herself being reminded of a time not so long ago. A time she thought, she wouldn't see again.

"Percy," she continued, laying a nervous hand on his arm. He watched her face. "Please, wait-"

He shook his head gently. She knew that look and watched in slight horror as he dashed downstairs into the hallway. There were a few moments of ear piercing silence.

What was happening down there?

Marguerite could bear it no longer, so hurried out herself. She could see Percy pause, emerging from the darkness below her and she clutched the banister tightly, causing her knuckles to turn white.

He looked up. The only thing she saw was the scrap of paper clutched in his fist. He turned, before bolting towards the still open doors of the grand entrance.

She tore down the stairs after him.

She reached the doorway, just as Percy returned out of the night, his body soaked through from the storm. There was something in his hands. No emotion on his carefully neutral face.

Marguerite let out a sound that might have been a sob as she realised what he'd found at the edge of the drive. What the intruders had left behind in their haste to return to wherever they'd come from. Or as a mocking gift.

A single blue ribbon. One Marguerite was more than familiar with as it was often tied in her daughter's hair. Inside it was a note.

The writing was scrawled and rash, but she recognised it easily enough as she stole it from her husband's trembling grasp.

 _Dear Sir Percy,_

 _There once was a pimpernel, brave and bold,  
His days of adventure were gone and old._

 _The one thing he'd, forgotten though,  
Was the revenge that he, was so desperately owed. _

_So dear Percy here it is,  
It seems your daughter, has gone a miss_

 _Wish to find her? I know you do…  
Come to Paris, I'll be expecting you._

 _C._

Her blood boiled.

Chauvelin. Of course, it had to be him. Once more the Devil himself had reared his ugly head and plunged directly into their life, to wreak havoc and misery. Why she was even surprised after all these years was a mystery to Marguerite. She should have expected such a deed.

Then again, expecting it, and witnessing it, were two separate experiences. Her eyes were as wide as saucers as she looked around at the debris, and stood back in horror. Her mind could hardly even fathom what must have occurred only a few short minutes ago.

So numb with horror, Marguerite failed to notice as Percy wrapped his loving arms around her. Her body was the first to react as she collapsed against him. Tears tore down her cheeks. "You have to find her. Find her Percy," she pleaded.

He stroked her head soothingly. "I will find her Margot. I promise." His voice was gentle, full of promise and determination. She looked at him. His eyes seemed to cloud over as the final words exited his mouth. "When I do I will make him suffer. For everything he has ever done."

They stood for a moment wrapped in each other, comforting their beloved. Until they were joined by a startled looking Shivers, wide-eyed as he stood there in his night robe.

"My Lord?" he choked, taking in the scene.

"Shivers, I need you to send word immediately," Percy began authoritatively. He turned, immediately softening as he took his wife's hands. "Margo, you should check on Thomas - he must have been roused by the commotion too."

"Of course, but… What do you mean sending word?" she demanded in a state of confusion. Then she heard the words she'd most feared for so long.

"Yes, ma dear. The league is back in business."


	7. Chapter 6

_**I have to admit I really enjoyed writing Andrew this chapter. I adore him as a character and it was nice to experiment with a new perspective in this story. Also, sorry about the longer than normal wait - I just got back from holiday and had the best time, so writing got a little neglected... anyway, I'm back now so service shall resume as normal. As always, thanks for reading this. I'd love to hear from you. It's amazing talking to other fans about these amazing books and films. Thesilentmage x**_

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Sir Andrew sighed dreamily, as he rolled over in his four-poster bed. His lips flickered into a smile as he heard the sigh of his wife beside him. It was a sound that filled his heart with contentment, as was the rhythmic pounding of the rain outside as it beat against their windowpane.

However, there was another noise in that symphony of night time, one that did not create such feelings of peace or happiness: the steady knocking on his door.

Andrew rubbed his eyes wearily. Who was knocking at the hour? Whoever it was had better have an excellent reason as to why, although they usually did.

Suzanne moaned and opened a wary eye. It was clear she shared his sentiments. "Andrew," she whined, collapsing against the bed.

Andrew couldn't help but groan – if someone was knocking now it had to be important. For that reason, he rose slowly and shuffled towards the door. He opened it and blinked at their latest guest as he was revealed in the dim candlelight.

"Parker?" he demanded. Parker, their ever faithful Butler, stood patiently outside the door, a silver tray in his hand. Furthermore, he appeared fully dressed despite the hour. It was enough to startle Andrew, and considering some of the events in his life that was truly saying something. "Could this not have waited until the morning?"

"No, Sir," he apologised, his tone oddly severe. "A messenger arrived with this a moment ago."

Andrew merely looked at the envelope. Of course, he would recognise the small scarlet flower that stood stamped on the front of it. However, he would be lying if he said that he had thought to see its like again. Let alone so soon.

"Thank you, Parker," he managed, seizing the letter for himself. He had barely closed the door before he snapped the wax seal, holding the letter up towards the moonlight behind him. He scanned it for a mere second before turning into his room. "Suzanne, we have to go."

"Now?" she gasped in surprise, sitting upright.

"Yes, it is Percy. He needs our help."

"Our help? It must be serious if I am coming too," she remarked, peeling back the covers and grabbing her dressing robe.

"How so?"

"If there is trouble with Percy, there is clearly also trouble with Marguerite," she explained as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Andrew nodded turning to gather up his clothes. Where was his jacket? "What about Will and Rose?" he queried suddenly as if he had only just remembered their two sleeping children.

"I'll leave a note with Parker to give to them in case we are not back before they wake," Suzanne answered so calmly that Andrew couldn't help but think she'd have made an excellent addition to the league in another life.

"Good idea." Andrew nodded again and left the bedchamber swiftly.

* * *

Percy looked around at the many faces before him- all of them, dear and loyal friends. He felt almost sorrowful that the time when his band was finally reunited, it was for so terrible a cause.

All of them, to their credit, had come swiftly after receiving his summons. Of course, they had all immediately demanded to know the meaning of their hasty arrival. Yet, Percy refused any answers and merely ushered them into the large dining hall, now prepared by the staff for their urgent usage.

Marguerite was upstairs, trying to soothe Thomas who had far too many questions about the excitement unfolding downstairs. Her face had been so blank and pallid that it worried Percy so, to see his wife so distressed. There was nothing else to say to her, that he hadn't already said. All he could do was take action and keep a half-hearted smile on his lips.

Finally, he looked up as the door opened again, and none other than Andrew and Suzanne entered. It was not hard to notice their drenched apparel as they hurried inside, and out of the waning summer storm. Though, neither looked particularly concerned about such a minor inconvenience, their attention instead, turning directly towards himself.

Percy rose slowly from his position, leaning against the doorway, and held out a hand. Andrew looked at it and shook it uncertainly.

"Percy, what are we doing here?" he began.

"My dear Lord and Lady Ffoulkes," he sighed softly in greeting. "Thank you for coming so swiftly, and at such an appalling hour."

"Did you doubt we would?" Suzanne teased, her voice warm and soft as if she could sense the distress inside him. "Where is Marguerite?"

"She is upstairs with Thomas, and I gather she would greatly appreciate your company."

"Of course."

Percy watched as Suzanne smiled reassuringly at him, before heading straight towards the grand staircase. Thank goodness there was someone here for her too. They needed all the friends they could muster at such a dark time, and Suzanne was such a loyal and kind one. If anyone could comfort his wife, it was her dearest friend.

Percy turned, returning his attention back to his dearest friend, as he gestured to the dining hall behind him. "Shall we?"

Andrew smirked wearily. "If it means I finally get to find out what I am here for, then indeed."

With that, Percy led the way, ushering the last of their party into the room. All at once the occupants inside glanced up, watching as their leader emerged. The weight of their curiosity was almost suffocating. It took all his remaining strength to pass them, to stand directly at the head of the table so he could address them all.

Percy knew he had to do it. The time to launch the League had come. The truth was he had never pictured such a moment in so bleak a manner.

"I must thank you all firstly for coming," he declared, tightening his grip on the table edge. If only he could control his swirling emotions with such force. Perhaps he would not feel as if he were about to fall apart, rather than appear the all confident leader he was known to be. "I know we were not expecting our next call of duty to be quite so soon, if at all. I have promised you all the chance of a life of retirement, and peace. But, as we all know our dear friend Chauvelin has returned."

It was as if he had hurled a match into a vat of paraffin, as the room burst into an animated whisper. Those few who had not been in attendance at the ball that night realised what an event they had missed.

"And what? You want us to chase him back to Paris?" demanded Hastings curiously, his face masked in the flickering dim light of the candle.

"No, that is precisely the problem. He has gone back to France. But he has taken Cosette with him," he sighed throwing the scrap of paper onto the table.

The men read it quickly in turn, handing it to their fellows, each face frowning deeply.

"One thing is for certain at least Chauvelin's poetic skills have improved rapidly," Tony muttered under his breath.

Several people smirked, but were silenced by stony glares. As much as Percy appreciated Tony's attempt at lightening the mood, humour felt ill-suited to this particular moment.

"Well, then we must go after him!" Hastings declared a moment later. His tone made it perfectly clear his mind was made up.

Percy, however, remained silent. It was not that simple. "I can not force any of you to follow me," he explained, "especially after all the years of service you gave to me. Many of you have families of your own to worry about, and I could not ask you to endanger yourselves again."

"Do not be a fool Percy, of course, we shall come with you. Any man here would do anything for you!" came a cheer from the corner of the room.

The room was filled with the chorus of agreement.

It was only when Andrew finally spoke that the reality finally sunk into Percy. "And it is Cosette, Percy, as if we would let anything happen to her."

Percy smiled meekly, a warm feeling coursing through him as he looked around at the group around him. He was speechless- for once. He looked around proudly and nodded. He should have known better than to doubt the reaction of his friends, and colleagues. They were nothing if not reliable, now as much as they had ever been.

"Well then," he breathed, "we need a plan if we are going to take on Chauvelin again."

A murmur ran around the room as men piled around the table, ideas already in full flow. Percy staggered back and looked at those nearest him.

"We leave at first light," he began, authority oozing from every word. "We shall head to the nearest harbour, and follow to France. They can only be just ahead of us if they made the tide. Armaund is meant to be sailing over to us in a few days anyway, so we shall catch him on our journey, and from there … we shall head to Paris."

* * *

It had only just become light by the time Andrew staggered towards the doorway of his home. Indeed, the first strokes of crimson were beginning to peek over the horizon, and the faint birdsong in the air signified the time all too clearly.

There was no time to waste.

Andrew could not afford any delay as he wearily rubbed his eyes and tried to think of all that needed doing if he was to make it back on the road as soon as possible. Oh, what he'd have given to able to sleep even for only a few moments. Alas, it was not to be. At least it seemed he was not the only one who was to go without sleep that morning.

As soon as Andrew gazed upwards, he noticed that Parker was awaiting his arrival just as Andrew predicted. He knew the man too well by now to expect anything but - this wasn't his first unexpected nighttime visit to Blakeney Manor, and he had no idea if it would be the last.

Still, Andrew was almost surprised to see how alert and composed Parker seemed to be, finely dressed and standing to attention as if it were any other time of day, and not unholy early. The man really was a godsend.

"Sir," he greeted, the moment Andrew approached the door. He bobbed his head in a hasty bow, before gesturing past him to the open doorway. He knew well enough from his master's pace not to expect to receive his coat and gloves. Sir Andrew was clearly not staying long enough to warrant their removal. "I take it by her Ladyship's absence that your Lordship will not be staying long?"

He wearily nodded at the man. "Indeed. I only returned as I need a few things packed - along with the usual requirements. I am going away for a while. My wife shall return later this evening after attending to some further business at Blakeney Manor."

Parker nodded understandingly, matching his master's pace as they reached the bottom of the stairs. "Of course, Sir. I shall see to everything at once. Your bag will be awaiting you with a fresh horse, out the front, in a moment."

"Thank you."

"There is also some breakfast in the dining hall should you wish to help yourself," Parker added, much to Andrew's relief. Thoughts of food hadn't even crossed his mind, but now they were Andrew couldn't deny his sudden longing for something to eat. "I had a suspicion your Lordship would not have had time to eat, and what kind of Butler would I be if I allowed you to run off on an adventure without a full stomach?"

Andrew laughed, clapping the man on the shoulder gratefully. "You are a wonder, Parker. What would I do without you?"

"Crash and burn, sir," Parker replied without missing a beat. "Crash and burn."

With that he turned on his heel and disappeared off to make the agreed arrangements, leaving Andrew to seek out the breakfast he had been promised.

It always felt odd to see the place so quiet, so still, as if the very house itself was yet to awake. It was always the most peaceful time, Andrew concluded as he made his way down the corridor towards the dining hall. Every step of his boots seemed to echo off the marble flooring, amplified by the silence. It was as if Andrew were the only one in the house.

However, a flicker of movement out of the corner of Andrew's eye was enough to disprove that theory.

He paused, retreating several paces as he turned to stare at the doorway. The fact his son stood there, arms folded and with the most suspicious expression on his face told Andrew immediately this would not end well.

"Will?" he immediately asked. "What are you doing up? I had not expected to see you, at least not this early."

"Really?" Will smiled in reply, sauntering closer, bathed in the first rays of dawn that shone through the window. "I told you I would be rising early this morning to ride over to the club. Nathaniel Dewhurst and I have a wager to settle if you remember."

Andrew groaned, nodding as the knowledge returned to him. "Indeed I do. I forgot."

"Evidently." There was a playfulness in Will's tone as he watched his father most carefully, noting every flicker of expression on his face. "I do believe Parker has set out breakfast in the dining hall. Will you be joining me or are you darting off on another secret exploit?"

"Secret exploits? Come now, Will. I know of no such thing," Andrew replied swiftly with all his usual light-hearted tact. His hand rose to rest affectionately on his son's shoulder. "But I will join you for breakfast. I am famished."

"I do not doubt it."

Will paused, turning to allow his father to proceed towards the dining hall at the end of the corridor. Together they fell in step, walking side by side as if it were any normal morning. The quizzical glances they shot towards each other were the only sign things were not as they normally were.

Of course, Will had become accustomed during his childhood with his parents coming and going as they pleased, at all hours of the day. However, there was something that felt unusual about that particular morning. This combined with the fact his brain had long sought more convincing answers than he was acclimatised to being provided with, ensured his attention was most thoroughly on his father, and where he had been so early.

"So, did you have a good time, father?" Will enquired as they drew towards the doorway. "I do not remember you, or mother, informing me the Blakeneys' would be hosting a midnight soiree. I almost feel wounded I was not invited."

Andrew paused, knowing full well he was teetering on the edge here. "And what makes you think I was at Blakeney Manor?"

"Where else would you be?" Will all but scoffed. "It is the only place you and Mama would both leave to so early - that, and Mama had the decency to leave me a note telling me that was where you had gone."

"Ah." He'd forgotten the note.

"Yes, Father dearest. At least Mother cares for your only son."

Andrew rolled his eyes, a habit he had formed since the birth of his son. He sometimes cursed that fate had seen fit to grant his son his wife's undying curiosity and stubbornness. Lord help him if his dearest daughter continued to also grow up like her mother. Andrew was going to be outnumbered.

Then again, he already was.

Suddenly Will ground to a halt. He turned, sliding so that his body became a physical barrier in the doorway, blocking the delicious smelling food that was now tantalisingly close, yet so far away.

Andrew immediately frowned but it did no good. He knew nothing could make his son move unless he wanted to. Still, that didn't mean Andrew was about to pour out everything to him, even if would mean he could finally get to his awaiting breakfast.

"Someone would almost say you were hiding something, all this secret to-ing, and froing."

"Secret to-ing and froing?" Andrew scoffed, shaking his head. "Will. Do not be so melodramatic, we told you exactly where we were."

"But not your real reason for going there when you did," Will countered immediately, narrowing his eyes. It was enough to warn Andrew this was far from over. "Tell me something is not going on here, that your little excursion last night - out into that storm as well - was some innocent last minute soiree, even though you had only seen each other a few hours previously at the ball."

"Will-"

"This is not the first time, Father."

"Will-"

"And I surely doubt it shall be the last."

Andrew sighed heavily, throwing his hands up in defeat. "What will it take for you to drop this matter, so I can eat in peace?"

"Swear to me," Will replied automatically. "Swear this was nothing important. Do it and I'll drop the matter."

Andrew paused. He leaned in closer so that his face was a mere inch from his son's. It took all his remaining strength to try and compose himself with even a shred of paternal authority as he stared at his son and told him oh-so-simply, "Yes. It was just a last minute thing - nothing important."

"And you would tell me if anything important was happening?"

"Of course."

"Then where are you off to again so soon?"

The satisfaction in Will's voice and expression was enough to tell him he'd lost.

Andrew felt his stomach drop as he followed his son's gaze to the doorway behind, and the sheepish looking Parker that stood there, portmanteau in hand. He could not help but wish he had his wife to support him right then. He stared between Will, and Parker, who was doing his best to remain neutral despite the situation.

He could not have chosen a worse moment to appear. Damn.

"You were saying, father?" Will mused slowly. "Is it something to do with the Scarlet Pimpernel?"

Andrew seemed to hesitate a mere moment, but that was enough to tell Will all he needed to know. Whatever was going on here, it had to do with the Pimpernel. It was also likely serious by the fact his father was running about in the middle of the night, his mother in tow. That was enough to set Will on edge.

"It _is_ something to do with Pimpernel," Will declared triumphantly. "I knew it. I've had my suspicions for years but… I was right?"

"Will, this is serious."

"So I would gather by your late night travels. But Mother went with you too… why would she go? Unless this is also something to do with the Blakeneys' directly?"

Andrew sighed, nodding solemnly. He could barely look at his son, choosing instead to proceed to his awaiting place and the breakfast sat there.

His son had always been smarter than he had given him credit for. He had all the pieces to put the puzzle together by himself, even if Andrew very much wished he did not. How was he supposed to keep the secret any longer? They had always known this day would come. He had just wished it would be a while longer yet.

"And yet you are not going to tell me what?"

"I can not," Andrew answered honestly, a look of defeat glazing his expression. "I would if I could, but I can not - truly Will. Please, do not ask me."

"At least tell me, are they in danger?"

Again Andrew chose silence, confirming yet another of his son's speculations. The change in his manner at such a realisation though was staggering. Immediately the smug, youthful swagger Will had adopted that morning evaporated, leaving a terrified being in its' wake. The gravity of the situation had struck him with a cold, sickening sensation in his gut.

"What is really going on here?" Will demanded icily, with such resolution in his eyes Andrew knew he'd already lost any hope of winning this discussion. "You can tell me yourself, or I can ride with you to Blakeney Manor and demand the truth there. Which would you prefer?"

"I will tell you," Andrew surrendered his tone heavy with warning. "However, we don't have long. This is a matter of life and death, so keep your questions to the end and do not interrupt me, Will. There is much I have to tell you, and not much time to do so."

He sighed, tossing his coat onto the back of the chair and settled into it wearily. Hopefully, Percy would forgive his unexpected, and clearly unavoidable, delay.


	8. Chapter 7

Darkness. That was all Cosette could tell - never-ending darkness. Her eyes did not seem to be responding to her desperate attempts to open them. Instead, it felt as if they had been weighed down by some invisible force.

She knew little… she was able to make out little… just a continual rocking motion beneath her, as if she were riding in the back of a coach of some sort… it was the final thought she had as her weary mind slid back into unconsciousness.

* * *

It was a rushed half hour later that Will and Andrew left the estate. It was a further half hour till they rode up to the front driveway of Blakeney Manor, thankful the rain had all but ceased for the night.

Much to Andrew's relief, Will had stuck to his word and asked relatively few questions after his lengthy tale in the dining room. He knew the boy was dying inside with curiosity and god knew what else, but by the time Andrew had finished his tale, Will seemed to understand his sense of urgency.

Instead, he had followed without another word, riding as if hell itself was after him. Still, Andrew wished he was sticking to the original plan, and arriving alone. There was nothing for it, though. Will would not be swayed. Hopefully, he could count on Percy to talk some sense into the boy… if he didn't kill the pair of them first.

Andrew had sworn the oath of secrecy, just as every other member of the league had. However, they had all known that there was only so long their actions could remain a true secret. Their days of bachelor-dom and independence had all but dwindled away. There was more to their lives now than adventure, mystery, and glory.

Andrew gulped as he hurried up the stairs.

He and Will shared an apprehensive look as they hurried through the main hall. They were unannounced as they hurried past the Butler at the door, and headed directly for the library. The door to it was propped ajar, allowing them to catch the end of whatever conversation had been taking place inside.

"We await your orders," Tony declared just as the door swung open with a silent creak.

As one, the occupants turned their heads, glancing up at the new arrivals to their meeting.

"Ah, Andrew you have returned, and just in time too," Percy began, glancing up from the map sprawled across his desk. It was then that his eyes widened as he took in the boy stood there as well. "And… Will?"

If the man had not been expecting to see William Ffoulkes stood in his library that morning, he did an admirable job at masking it. The others in the room, however, did not. As it was, the faint sound of a teacup being dropped to the floor echoed through the sudden silence.

"We were not expecting you," Percy greeted effortlessly. "Had Andrew informed me you were coming I could have had some tea brought up for you."

The accusation was clear, if not phrased far more kindly than Andrew had been expecting. He cleared his throat and tried to swallow the sense of unease that swirled inside him. "It is a long tale, Percy, and one I must explain to you."

"Gentlemen," Percy cheered, casting his eye around the room. "If you could excuse us for a moment? I believe Andrew and I need a talk with young Ffoulkes here."

Taking their cue, the room emptied swiftly. Only Tony and Hastings seemed to loiter, casting the three of them with a suspicious and concerned eye as they went. Percy was quite sure they would have protested for the right to stay had Andrew not looked quite so irate.

Still, he heard it as they slipped from the room, as Hastings whispered, "ten shillings he ends up joining us."

Tony scoffed, but nodded, clearly taking the wager.

Percy sighed as the door clicked shut behind them, leaving the three of them very much alone. The room suddenly felt all too small.

His attention immediately returned to the figure stood so confidently in front of him. It did not take a genius to deduce what had so obviously occurred in Andrew's absence. The fact Will was even in the room told Percy everything he needed to know.

The time had finally come.

"So, William," he began, knowingly. "How much has your father told you?"

"Enough," he replied, turning his gaze between the pair of them. To his credit, he appeared to show none of the nervousness Percy knew he must have been feeling. Instead, he looked the picture of composure and grace as he interrogated the pair of them. "I know you work for The Scarlet Pimpernel, and that Chauvelin has taken Cosette as a means of luring you all to France. You plan to follow after him and rescue her."

"That much is true."

"I had no choice," Andrew once more interjected, sounding almightily guiltily. "Please forgive me. I told him what I was able."

"There is nothing to forgive, dear friend. We all knew this day would come eventually," Percy soothed, rising from his seat and patting his friend on the back. "Besides, we all know your son has your admirable sense of loyalty and stubbornness. We could hardly expect him to react differently."

Hearing it made Andrew feel a little better, even if his expression remained guilt-ridden.

"Besides," Percy continued teasingly, "what else could you do, save locking him in your study and throwing away the key?"

"Do not tempt me," Andrew smirked in reply.

The pair of them shared a sympathetic smile, one that told the tale of their joint years navigating being a parent. If they thought they had been a handful as a pair of mischievous youths, their children had certainly given them a run for their money. Now was no exception.

Percy rounded back to turn his full attention to the younger Ffoulkes. His eyes watched the familiar features of the boy he considered a second son, noticing how he seemed to be hanging on their every word. It felt as if it were yesterday that the boy had first been brought here, nothing more than a swaddled babe in his mother's arms.

"So," he continued smoothly, returning to the matter at hand. "Your father told you nothing else? Such as who the real Pimpernel is?"

Will blinked. Clearly, he hadn't been expecting that question. That did not mean he had not considered it himself, it just meant that he knew better than to ask it aloud. "No."

"Did you ask?"

"No. I mean… I wanted to, but that is not the main concern right now. It was enough he confided in me as much as he did," he conceded, even if curiosity burned within him. His eyes kept swiveling about the room, trying to gather what they could from the numerous maps and papers dotted about. Hence why he turned directly to Percy, the man he considered a second father, and asked earnestly, "Who is he?"

Percy had to give him credit, William Ffoulkes was every bit as brave and bold as his father. "Why do you wish to know?"

Despite his question, Percy cast a warm glance to his dearest friend. His intention was clear, asking permission to bestow such a burden on the boy's shoulders. There was a reluctance to Andrew's expression, but he nodded in agreement.

Their worlds were truly falling apart, scattering between the two plains that they had spent their adult lives trying to keep separate. It was up to them to minimize the damage as best they could. If that meant telling Will the truth, then so be it.

"Because I wish to join you and go to France."

Whatever Percy had been expecting, this was not quite the answer.

"Will," Andrew cautioned sternly, shaking his head. He had stepped forward in alarm. "Do not be ridiculous."

"Ridiculous? She is my dearest friend. You can not just expect me to abandon her after telling me this?" There was no mistaking the ferocity of Will's question. The entire room fell deathly silent as they stared at him and the dangerous fire that raged in his eyes. "She is all but my family too."

"I have just spent the past few hours warring with Marguerite to urge her to remain behind, which was no mean feat, I assure you," Percy sighed wearily, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I do not have the energy to start such a war with you as well, Will."

"Then save yourself the trouble. I am coming and that is final. You can tell the Pimpernel."

Percy tried not to but was unable to help himself from laughing at the irony. "Well, Will, my boy, you just did."

It was Will's turn to look utterly stunned with disbelief. "You?"

Percy nodded, embracing the truly dramatic element of his revelation, as had always been his fashion. "Yes, I."

"But… you…" He trailed off inelegantly, his words abandoning him. "Neither of you said a word? All these years."

Andrew sighed, rubbing the back of his neck in distress. "We were protecting you," he explained, looking as if words were beyond him at that moment in time. "Besides, it was not my place to tell. It goes without saying, you can not tell another living soul."

"I swear," Will soothed. No matter his own personal feelings on the subject, he would never betray those he loved. The fact his father even had to say it wounded him. His face made that detail clear. "Does Cosette know?"

Percy shook his head. "She did not, but I fear the truth will soon be made clear to her."

"So then? Can I join you?"

"I can not, and will not, risk any more innocent lives in this endeavor," Percy stated firmly, unable to help the glimmer of pain in his eyes as he glanced across at Andrew. "Chauvelin has my daughter, and I would not dream of putting Andrew through the same agony were anything to happen to you."

Will said, as if in answer to some unspoken debate, "I am getting her back."

Percy slid his gaze to the boy. Will's hazel eyes glowed golden in the shadows of the early morning.

"If Chauvelin knows you, surely it would be an advantage to have the assistance of someone unknown to him," Will protested, knowing his point was particularly true. The fact Percy's eyes narrowed at the statement said he knew it too. "He will hardly remember me considering our brief discussion before. Besides," Will threatened, "You can either take me with you willingly, or I can just make my own way to Paris. You know I will, the choice is entirely yours."

How time had flown. Percy could still envision the days where Will was nothing but a boy as if they were yesterday. Now, he was a man. A brave, headstrong and loyal man. He was also, clearly, a foolish man willing to risk anything for those he cared about.

His face fell in resignation. What else could he do? Considering Andrew's history with disobeying orders and finding his way to France, Percy very much believed his son's threat to carry on the family legacy. The last thing they needed was a stow-away or Will attempting a rogue rescue mission.

"You will obey any commands you are given, without hesitation."

"Of course."

"And Andrew must approve any actions you take."

Will nodded again, relief clear as he smiled victoriously. "Of course," he repeated.

"Well then," Percy sighed, leaning back in his seat theatrically. His tone lightened with every word. "There is one last thing you need to do if you plan to accompany us on this trip."

"And what is that?" Will demanded.

Percy savoured every second of the silence. "Convince your mother upstairs to let you go."

The silence, and the terror, on both the Ffoulkes' faces, was immediate. In all the excitement Suzanne had been quite forgotten, much to their peril.

"Oh no." Andrew gulped.

Will echoed the sentiment. "We are doomed."

Percy grinned, not entirely unsympathetically. "Good luck."

They were going to need it. Then again, if William Ffoulkes could survive that conversation in one piece then maybe he was strong enough for the task ahead after all.

* * *

The second time Cosette woke, Cosette woke up to the sound of an odd noise. A high pitch shrieking of some sort that she almost immediately recognised: seagulls. They were so loud and so clear above her that she all but winced at the sudden pain it caused her throbbing head.

It felt as if someone had driven a pickaxe between her eyes.

She winced and gasped loudly as she tried to move but failed. At least her eyes were open this time, and she could see the birds flying in the sky so peacefully.

Why were there seagulls? Was she by the sea? Where was she? And why could she not move?

Before she could answer, she once again fell into unconsciousness.

Several more times Cosette drifted between the world of consciousness and sleep. Each time, felt the same, full of hasty glances and panicked questions as she tried to make sense of the distorted world around her. Little by little though, she felt as if things were making sense again.

She felt control of her body returning. One time she awoke she was able to turn her head and open her eyes fully. The next she was even able to move her legs, turning herself over on to her side.

Steadily strength returned until she was finally able to move in her moments of consciousness - even if it pained her to do so. It was how she stole terrified glances around her for clues as to her whereabouts and tried to remember all that had happened to her. Yet, it was only made harder by her sudden realisation that her hands were bound by some kind of thick rope. Every time she awoke she cursed at the sensation of it, and at her inability to do anything but lie or sit wherever she was… being carried further and further from her home.

She would merely wait until sleep took her once again.

* * *

Cosette's eyes fluttered open as she awoke once more. It was as if she had been doused in cold water the way she felt suddenly alert. Unlike before, control of all her limbs seemed to be within her power as she pushed herself upright and off the dirt stained, icy, stone floor.

Cosette feebly took stock of her surroundings.

It seemed she was now located in a small room which she was more than likely locked in, barred by the large oak door and iron bars across the room. In the wall behind her, there was one window which seemed to be her only source of light save for the candle stubs that had been discarded in a heap in the corner. At least they left some candles, and some water as filthy as it was.

Cosette could feel just how arid her throat had become from thirst, and she availed herself of it. It took more effort than she had thought it would. She was physically and emotionally exhausted, but all she could do not now was pray that she would be out of this hell before she knew it…

If only she knew where this hell even was. France, that much was obvious, based on what little she remembered from her travel and the fact Chauvelin was involved. But the rest… she could remember little to aid her.

Darkness… traveling somehow… seagulls followed by the salty scent of the sea. Then there had been trees… countryside, and a cart? Cosette could most clearly remember lying in the back of the cart under a bundle of blankets, looking up at a sky that was finally showing a colour besides navy and ominous grey. It was blue with streaks of pink and yellow.

Sunset? she had mused.

It had been a hard journey from the little she could remember. The first few hours of her departure had been wrapped up in her own miseries, flickering between consciousness and slumber. For try as she might, she could not help throwing desperate glances over her shoulder in the hope that they were being pursued - that she may wake and be able to flee.

Yet, it had been impossible. It had been dark, and the rain had pelted her head and the wind had been biting which caused her to almost swaddle herself in her blankets. If Monsieur Chauvelin or Fumier had heard her trying to rise and failing, as they rode along, they said nothing at all.

Who knew how much time had even passed since she'd last been home at Blakeney Manor?

Cosette wanted to cry, and she probably would have were she not as sure as she was she would survive this. Chauvelin had taken her, but not killed her -not yet- which meant he needed her for something. She was here to serve some purpose, even if it was not yet obvious what it was. Relief was instantaneous at that knowledge.

She let out a gentle sigh and sat back, taking in the rest of the room. Her eyes finally clapped on the two other things that were left for her beside the door. At first glance, Cosette thought the first was a mat to sleep upon. However, upon closer examination, she noticed that it was actually a dress if it truly could be called that.

Feebly, Cosette took a hold of the dress before her and held it up to the light. The tattered brown material was clearly cheap and poorly tailored. Yet, it was warmer and far more conservative than her current attire, her almost ruined nightgown and robe, so she wasted no time in exchanging one for the other.

As soon as the dress slid over her body, Cosette felt oddly better. If she was to be held prisoner then she would at least prefer to be so dressed in something other than the flimsy material of her nightdress and robe. The fact that she realised the second item was an old pair of overly large leather boots, only made her preference increase. At least she was now finally clothed.

However, discarding her robe and nightdress in the corner of the room left a hollow pang in her chest as if discarding every trace of herself. She was not Lady Cosette Blakeney, not dressed in these rags… no. She looked every part the prisoner she had become. If only her father had seen her, he'd have been appalled.

With a shudder, Cosette sank back down against the wall, head resting on her knees. There was nothing she could do but wait, and wonder - what on earth was going on?


	9. Chapter 8

_**Well, I'm back! The last few weeks have been manic for me as I have officially moved back into accommodation, ready to start my second year of University - so apologies in advance if any of my updates start to get a little spaced out. I'll try to keep updating, but reviews would be nice to encourage me further xx Thesilentmage**_

* * *

The Day Dream was a majestic vessel as well as a recognizable one. Sitting there against the blue waters of the channel, white sails billowing in the breeze, it seemed in its' element. The pleasant blue skies overhead had only aided its' passage, cutting towards the coastline just ahead.

France.

It was a recognizable coast face, one Percy Blakeney had spent a great portion of his life staring at. The sweeping green hills swept up beyond the glistening blue waters of Calais. The morning sunlight was beaming down as well, adding an ironically pleasant hue to the tranquil coastal scene. Even the outcrop of stone structures clustered together, forming the town, appeared unusually cheery.

It made his heart sink.

It had not been an easy voyage. It had been a long couple days, with little discussion or sleep for any of them. The face of his wife would haunt him every second of this mission, that much he knew, as would the idea of returning to it without the ability to correct it to the carefree expression he was so fond of.

He cursed under his breath, turning back to the bustling deck behind him and the awaiting boat that sat in the waters below, bobbing in the waves. He watched as Hastings was the last to swing himself over the edge of the wooden railing, reaching for the rope ladder that descended down to the boat and their awaiting comrades.

They could hardly dock the Day Dream in Calais like any other merchant vessel. It would arouse too much suspicion, and considering their mission that was fatal. Instead, they would do as they had always done.

"Percy? You coming?" he bellowed, his blonde hair disappearing down and out of view.

Percy wasted no time, hurrying over with a simple, "merely saving the best till last, ma dear chap."

A resounding laugh echoed back towards him, disappearing into the sea winds. It did little to ease his mood, as Percy followed, climbing down to the awaiting vessel.

The crew of the Day Dream had their orders and were more than familiar with this kind of routine after two decades of it. They would sail off back to England, returning across the channel in a weeks' time, to dock in their usual hiding places. It truly was surprising the amount of unpatrolled coastline and coves that littered the border of France. As Armaund had once declared, it was as if they were welcoming potential smugglers and anonymous visitors.

Yet again, that was exactly what they were. All six of them were once more venturing forth, to illicitly wander the streets of Paris. Still, despite their number and skill, Percy eyed their sixth party member with hesitant concern.

Everything about this mission felt perilous and unpredictable. Having Will amongst their number felt like a perfectly acceptable addition, considering the absurd circumstances. This was like nothing they had faced before. Still, to his credit, Will looked rather calm and determined. Beside his father, the resemblance between them became uncanny, as they shared the same silent, resolved countenance.

Then again, considering the boy had managed to somehow persuade his mother that he should accompany them, William Ffoulkes clearly had the makings of a brave member of the League. He also apparently shared his father's ability to charm his way around anybody, including his mother.

As soon as Percy had settled himself into the precariously rocking boat, they rowed onwards, aiming to drift to a nearby deserted stretch of beach. With all their hands, the task took little time, and before they knew it they had washed ashore.

Percy took a steady breath, inhaling the crisp scent of the sea. He then stepped off the boat and felt his boot sink into the sandy shore. This beach was one he had been to many times in his life, yet Percy had never felt as afraid standing there as he did that day. Not even the sight of the five honourable men around him could make him feel any less uneasy as he did then. The grim expressions on their faces only made it worse.

Percy knew he very well could have called upon his friends in the War Office, or even Parliament, for aid. Yet, there had been no time, and he had dare not risk involving any others in this venture. It was for that reason, they now all stood on France's shores, knowing that it truly was just the six of them.

As if sensing their leader's apprehension, the occupants of the boat gathered their supplies with haste. They took what they needed, hurrying away to the cliff face that provided them with shelter from any eyes that may have been watching from the hills above.

The revolution may have been over, but Calais was still less than welcoming - as usual. Suspicion would be rife, as would the tension if their presence became known. The best plan was to be swift and discreet.

"We should be meeting Armaund an hour or so away," Hastings sighed, eyes narrowing as he squinted across the miles of green that surrounded them. "He said he would be staying at the inn there in his last letter, so if we hurry we should catch him."

Tony nodded. "If not we'll surely pass him on the road. We shall meet up with him, no trouble."

Percy only prayed they were right. Drawing his coat a little tighter against the winds that swept off the sea behind him, he sighed. "We had better get moving if we wish to get there at all."

This was not a conversation he was particularly looking forward to having. How did one inform their brother in law that their niece had been kidnapped by their deluded, deranged, revolutionary arch nemesis?

It was going to be a long day for all of them.

* * *

It was one thing to imagine, to be held as some prisoner, a whole other to experience first hand. It was like something out of a novel. Except, whereas before Cosette had been safe outside the pages, she was now knee deep inside them, trapped in a cell like Ellena herself. Unfortunately, she doubted she could rely on this tale to have a happy ending.

Radcliffe's novels came nowhere near reality. The screams that echoed down the halls were enough to terrify Cosette half to death. As it was her hands trembled as she huddled herself as tightly into the corner as she could. All she wanted was for the nightmare to be over.

A sudden creaking of the door told her, that was unlikely to be the case. The voice that followed it, only made that fact clearer.

"She awakens."

The voice was deep and smooth, almost dripping with an arrogance that made Cosette feel sick to the pit of her stomach.

She did not say anything in return. She could not. For some unknown reason, her lips had clamped together, and she could not form a word. Her eyes stayed glued to the ground, staring at the feet of the two men that had entered the room, as if hoping to avoid them both.

However, she felt it as the man she knew as Fumier stepped beside her, twisting her arm to yank her helplessly to her feet. He pulled her sharply to face the man in front of her, suddenly slapping her hard across the face.

Cosette barely even had time to see it coming, let alone brace for it. His hand sent shock waves up her cheek, and she cried out at the sharp pain that flared in the tender skin, which she knew he had broken across the cheekbone.

"You will speak when spoken to," Fumier hissed authoritatively. "Else you will suffer."

Anger flooded through her as Cosette finally lifted her eyes from the floor and glared at him, then at Chauvelin, who stood watching from the corner of the room.

"Fumier," he warned, his tone as if he were scolding a small child. "What did I say? Violence is not necessary. She is not to be harmed."

"How comforting," Cosette muttered sarcastically under her breath. "You did not seem to feel the same way when you broke into my home, and struck me and abducted me."

"For which I apologize, I had not intended to hurt you, merely subdue you," Chauvelin grumbled, rolling his eyes to himself. "I did not expect such resistance - which was an error on my account. I should have expected more considering who you are."

"Who I am? What on earth do you mean? Who are you? What do you want from me?"

"I believe I introduced myself at the ball a few days ago," Chauvelin breathed, spreading his arms and nodding slightly towards her. "My name is Chauvelin, and this is my assistant Fumier."

"I know your names," Cosette snapped, trying not to flinch as she stared at the pair of them. She did not miss the loathing in Fumier's eyes as he made contact with hers, and she could not help but remember the blow she had dealt him the last time they'd met. It seemed they were now even on that score. "I remember who you are, Chauvelin. I meant who are you really? An ambassador to the English court would not have kidnapped me and locked me in this room. Whatever is going on here I demand to know."

"And you believe you have a right to know?" he chuckled, stepping ever closer. "You, who are bound and trapped within this cell wish to make a demand?"

"Yes."

"Ha," he scoffed in delight, clapping his hands together. "You really are a Blakeney. It's almost as if your mother is standing here instead, such passion burning in her eyes."

Cosette chose to ignore his remark, narrowing her eyes dangerously. He had not answered her question. "Where on earth am I?"

"You are currently in one of the cells beneath the lower levels of the French Ministry of Police."

He said it so simply, and so casually, that Cosette almost could not believe what he had just said. Cosette felt her eyes bulge at that statement. She was where? Her? A ten and eight-year-old English Heiress, was in a cell beneath the French Ministry of Police?

"What… why am I here? Why are you here?" she stammered.

Chauvelin smirked, and looked from Cosette to Fumier once more. "I know you have a good many questions, and I am most willing to answer them for you. We have plenty of time together to become acquainted, and I am most fascinated to meet you properly - the daughter of the great Scarlet Pimpernel."

Cosette stopped as she tried to understand what he'd said. Maybe it was the shock of discovering where she was, or maybe it was the head wound still distorting her senses but she'd have sworn he had just said that she was-

"Are you quite mad?"

"I know it must seem that way, but you can thank your father for that," Chauvelin smirked, prowling further towards her. "I too couldn't truly believe it was he, considering how convincingly he plays the part of a fool."

"But… my father is not… he _could_ not-"

Words seemed to fail Cosette at that moment in time as she tried to comprehend the sheer ludicrous statement. She knew Percy Blakeney better than anybody in the world. Him? The Scarlet Pimpernel?

Chauvelin was truly mad after all.

Her laughter was bright as it rippled from her around the cell. Cosette was unable to help the reaction to what was possibly the most ridiculous thing she had ever heard in her life. This was Percy Blakeney after all. Whilst she loved her father, he was nothing of a vigilante hero.

"You have made a mistake, Chauvelin, if you believe that."

"Oh, it is no mistake, I assure you," he growled irritably. "Think about it, Cosette. Your father is often gone for weeks at a time, always coincidentally when the Pimpernel strikes. He is a renowned swords man, and a master with a pistol to say nothing of his riding ability. Then there is his upbringing, with a fluent education in French and with geography."

Cosette blinked, trying to ignore the somewhat reasonable argument. His evidence was convincing had it also not been so vague. "You just described half the English nobility," she scoffed indignantly.

"And? You mean to tell me you have never wondered, even for a moment," Chauvelin rebuked confidently. "That you have never questioned why your father wears two different faces, one for you and one for the rest of the world? Why he never truly answers any question you ask about where he goes when he is away?"

The harrowing truth was, Cosette felt a sickening sense of accuracy in Chauvelin's description, even if she would never admit it. It was why she backed away slowly, edging towards the wall behind her. "You are trying to trick me."

"You truly believe I would go to so much trouble, just to trick you?"

"I do not know you," Cosette protested venomously. She stopped suddenly as she felt her back collide with the rough brick of the cell wall. She was penned in. "I only know what I have read, so forgive me if I have yet to make a decision about you and your reliability."

"You will see," Chauvelin drawled as if sensing her rising panic. The fact he strode forward, closing the last few meters of distance between them was enough to chill Cosette to the bone, especially as he leaned in to whisper, "All will be revealed in time, whether you like it or not, Lady Blakeney."

The threat was clear. So clear, in fact, it stole her breath away. Clearly, she would not be leaving this cell anytime soon. Whatever they had planned, she was to be a part of it whether she wished to be or not.

But to think, this was all something to do with The Scarlet Pimpernel? A man, a myth even, they believed to be none other than her very own father? Why, it was enough to make her head spin and her stomach churn in horror.

"So this is your own personal vendetta against him? The man you believe is the Scarlet Pimpernel? My father?" she accused, deducing the situation for what it was.

"Indeed."

"And that is why I am here?"

"That is not your concern," Chauvelin snapped, clenching his fists.

It seemed as if she had hit a nerve with that comment. She had also been right about him then. This was personal, whatever this was. He was using her as a pawn in some stupid game, designed to hurt those she loved dearest.

That thought somehow only sparked anger from her, not fear. Maybe it was because she was slowly putting the picture together there, but she failed to truly fear him. She hated him instead.

Only a coward would use a young girl to hurt his enemies, rather than face them like a man. He had no honour… he was pathetic, and that alone gave her the courage she needed to stand there, and look at him as she spoke.

"Why do you wish to draw him out? Revenge?" she whispered, trying to make it make sense in her mind. Her eyes bore into his intently, as if hoping to gain some insight into his mind through the brief expressions that flickered through them. "But why now, after all these years?"

"It is not merely revenge I seek," Chauvelin sighed coldly, a wicked snarl curling his lip upright. "Your father has remained a thorn in the side of France for years, long after he and I ended our games. He is a valuable prize to the French government, and I will be the one to retrieve him and unmask him."

Cosette blinked. "So, this is about restoring your honour? Prestige?"

"Yes."

"And you want to trap my father, as you believe him to be the Pimpernel?"

"Indeed. Like Fumier here, you will serve me and my purpose."

"Never," Cosette snapped. The answer flew off her lips and she felt surprisingly proud as she said it. She did not know where the sudden rush of courage came from, but she clung to it desperately, willing herself not to crumble in front of her nemeses. "I will not allow you to hide behind me, as your way to draw him out… like a coward."

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Fumier flinch to strike her again, but Chauvelin merely held his hand aloft, halting him instead. Thank heavens. Instead, he just grinned, as if finding this all thoroughly hilarious.

"It is a shame then, girl, that you already are serving my cause by merely being here."

Cosette felt as if her insides were burning, molten in her rage. She refused to be a mere pawn in this man's twisted schemes. "You will fail, Chauvelin."

"You are remarkably confident, but also remarkably naive."

"Me? I am the naive one? What makes you even sure this time you will be successful?" she hissed. "You never were in the past, so why now do you think this will work? That anyone will even believe you?"

"I have a powerful interested party assisting me."

"Who?"

He was a cat, toying with the mouse it had caught rather than ending its misery quickly. "You do not need to know."

If she had been angry before, Cosette was practically blinded by rage at that comment. Part of her wanted to lunge the remaining few centimetres between them and strike the man. She probably would have, had she not had the sense to realise that it would only result in more trouble for her, than satisfaction.

The world she had now entered was unfamiliar and dangerous. If she was to have the slightest hope of surviving it, she had to use her brains and act rationally. She could not, and would not, let her emotions blind her. She was a Blakeney after all. They could not break her unless she let them.

Still, that was easier said than done with such a man as Chauvelin tormenting her, somehow exposing vulnerabilities she had not realised existed before this very moment.

"You wish to hate me, yet I am the one telling you the truth - the truth those who supposedly care for you, neglected to tell you," Chauvelin taunted, tutting patronizingly as he did so. "If anything, you should thank me for liberating you and for showing you the world as it really is, not the delusion your father would have you believe."

Cosette inhaled sharply, clenching her fists so tight that her nails dug into the tender skin of her palm. The pain was all that rooted her as she tried not to flinch. "You call this liberation? Trapping me in a cell?"

"For now." Chauvelin paused, nodding conspicuously across the room at Fumier.

For the last minute or so he had been oddly quiet. Clearly, he understood this new signal though, reaching into his pocket to reveal a rather intimidating looking length of rope. It did not take a genius to deduce what it was intended for.

"You think me that much a threat that a cell is not enough?" Cosette teased, hoping her confident manner masked her inner panic.

"I have learned to be over cautious when it comes to the Blakeney family," Chauvelin explained, watching her blanch further. "If you behave yourself, then perhaps we will be able to remove the unnecessary restraints in a day or two."

Cosette realised resistance was futile, having caused herself enough trouble for one day. So, with a great deal of self-restraint, she allowed Fumier to advance towards her, seize her wrists between his fists, and bind them together.

Cosette hissed, watching as he bound them with an odd amount of precision. The knots he tied were barbarically tight around her wrists, no matter how hard she tried to wiggle herself some leeway.

Why they thought they were necessary when she was as disorientated and weak as she was, Cosette did not know.

If only she could untie it, then she would actually be able to feel the blood rushing in her wrists again, instead of watching them turn blue from the tightness of the knots. The rope was rubbing her wrists raw and she only wished she could get it off faster. Fumier clearly didn't want to take any chances with her.

Well, this could not get any worse.


	10. Chapter 9

**_Good evening to all you lovely people. I finally managed to get this chapter out, despite my hectic schedule at the moment, and also_ _my_ _need to try and get this to be the best it could possibly be. Let's just say the lovely rainy autumnal day gave me the best excuse to curl up under a blanket and bash this out for you. I really enjoyed playing with Chauvelin's character this chapter, as well as adding in a different twist to the story. Anyway, as always feel free to let me know what you think, feel or even just say hi - it's what I'm here for, and honestly, every message from you guys keeps my fire burning to keep writing this story._**

 ** _Thesilentmage x_**

* * *

Time seemed to feel infinite in the confines of the cell. If it had not been for the small slither of a window Cosette would have lost track of time completely. She watched forlornly as the faint beams of sunshine vanished and was replaced by inky darkness.

The darkness itself seemed to pour through the glass into the cell and conceal the room around Cosette. It made it seem almost as if she was floating in darkness, unsure of time or space.

Cosette wanted nothing more than to scream and cry and beg in every manner possible to be released. Yet, she merely sat there, curled in the corner of the room, trembling slightly as tears burned in her eyes.

Every thought was of anywhere but the room around her, or the truth that had been so harshly thrown upon her, stripping the sheen from the life she had known. No matter how hard she tried to deny the accusations Chauvelin had presented her with, a part of her soul had already known the truth as soon as she had heard it.

Her father was The Scarlet Pimpernel.

Her whole life she had been chasing rumours, seeking out gossip, and legends of the famed hero. Even now, she thought back to her childhood with a bitter sense of irony. She and her friends had spent every waking moment dreaming of joining the league of The Scarlet Pimpernel.

How many times had she and her cousin, Melodie St. Just, snuck up into the servants quarters on a quiet day and dressed up in the servants' clothes when no one was looking, to practice making disguises?

How many times had she and Thomas trawled through the atlas' and great maps in the library, plotting the quickest routes to and from Paris?

How many hours had she spent with her tutors, practicing her French till she was all but fluent in it? These were all vital skills for a potential new member, and Cosette was determined not to disappoint him.

Cosette had to choke back a pained laugh as she remembered one particular afternoon with Nathaniel Dewhurst, Will, and her cousin Melodie. They had spent the afternoon in the woods of the Dewhurst Estate playing 'the Pimpernel' after having read of another of his adventures in the weekly papers. Nathaniel had swiped the paper off his father's breakfast table, much to their excitement.

Oh, how they had laughed themselves silly, prancing about the wood, with Nathaniel bellowing his best French accent as he chased them. It had all been such childish fun, even when they'd all ended up knee deep in a muddy puddle and scolded most thoroughly for it.

All of it… mere fun back then, mere childish fantasy… yet to think, all that time, they had been so close to the truth… It made Cosette's heart sink as she fought the rising fury she felt inside. To know her father had watched, had laughed and smiled at them - how could he?

The sound of the door hinges whining in protest shattered her thoughts, startling Cosette back into the present. She hardly had time to blink as the door swung open and the bright light of the hallway outside flooded in and blinded her.

The sound of two sets of footsteps was enough to tell her clearly who her guests were this evening - the same two unfortunate guests she had seen almost every night the past few days. Just as she had then, Cosette felt the same rush of irritation and disappointment. If she was to remain confined in this hell, she would have much preferred to do so in her own company.

"Good evening, Lady Blakeney. How are you this fine evening?" Chauvelin began in his usual drawl. It most resembled that of the sound of nails scratching down a chalkboard and certainly had the same effect as Cosette's skin crawled. Still, she refused to open her mouth and reply. She stared down at her feet even as she felt Fumier approach.

Once again she was hauled to her feet and before she could brace against it, felt the pain of Fumier's hand as it struck her face.

The slap had been so sharp, and so sudden, Cosette had hardly registered it had happened till she found herself on the floor, clutching her stinging cheek.

"English aristo," Fumier spat vindictively.

The shock was not enough to dull the sudden throbbing in her cheek. It was what prompted her to open her mouth before her host felt the urge to loosen her tongue again. "Your manners seem to have worsened since your last visit."

"And yet, your stubbornness seems to have grown," Chauvelin quipped, casting a disapproving eye at her shivering form. He made no effort to assist her to her feet. Instead, he watched as she sat upright, wiped her lip and hurled the most venomous expression back at him.

"Why go to all this trouble?" she queried. "Why keep me here, and torment me? You could have ended this at the beginning, and just killed my father when you broke into Blakeney Manor. You had the opportunity to end this there and then. Why go to all this effort to lure him here?"

"Because," Chauvelin drawled patronizingly, "then I would have been a French citizen murdering an English citizen on English soil. What proof would I have he had been the Pimpernel? None. I would have been executed had I been caught. However, if I catch your father - an English noble - on French soil, with his men in tow, it will be a lot easier to convince the committee of his guilt as the Pimpernel. Then my actions will bring me fame, as well as status."

"And you would be within your rights to have him executed on suspicion of espionage."

"Exactly."

"So you lied, about being chosen by Napolean?"

She had spent a great deal of the time the past several days trying to work out this strange series of events for herself. Unfortunately, there remained a few blanks.

"Of course," Chauvelin sighed, looking all too weary as he leaned back against the brick wall. "That little ponce is a fool, off trying to invade whatever scraps of land he can get his hands on. Besides, after your father was through with me no one with half a name would even approach me, let alone trust me with any position. You can thank your dear Papa for that."

"So you blame him?"

"You're a smart girl," Chauvelin scolded, narrowing his eyes at her. "What do you think? As it is I am not the only one he disgraced either."

"That does not surprise me," Cosette murmured softly to herself. Luckily, the others did not seem to hear her.

"I do not know how much of French politics you know, Lady Blakeney, but have you heard of a man named Fouché?"

Cosette nodded slowly. She did indeed, for who could not know the man Napoleon had relied upon so dearly for secrets and spies? Who was known for his ruthlessness and tenacity? The papers had absolutely reveled in publishing endless tales of horror about him over the years, as well as proclaiming his repetitive failures at capturing English spies - such as The Scarlet Pimpernel himself.

"I have - he was the head of Napoleon's Ministry of police. He was the one the Pimpernel thwarted, after you of course, according to the papers. He was dismissed last year."

Chauvelin nodded slowly, and it all fell into horrifying clarity for Cosette.

"He is your interested party, isn't he?" she gasped. "He wants you to help him capture the Pimpernel, to regain his position."

"And he has offered me a handsome sum to do so," he boasted, prowling closer so that she could see the ear-splitting grin he wore. It made her stomach churn. "He knows I know the Pimpernel better than anyone, so he sought me out to make me the offer. He needs me, now that his network of bafoons has failed him one time too many."

"That is your plan?'

"You shall find out all in good time."

Without any warning, he then turned and slunk out of the cell, Fumier scurrying after him. The clang of the lock turning in the door told her this conversation was over. At least she had more answers than before.

* * *

Arriving in Paris had been no different to any other occasion in the past. It was a process Percy Blakeney was more than familiar with. Of course, figuring out a new disguise in which to fool the customs officials at the gate had been a challenge, but not a particularly difficult one for either him or his league. It may have been some time since they had last been here, but their repertoire was as strong as ever. A few wigs and accents later, and they had safely made it into the city itself.

The group had then traveled to the designated house in which they would make their base for this particular operation. This was, of course, after a slight delay in which Percy had tried to explain to Armaund all that had occurred during his absence. Just as he feared, the conversation had not gone well and it had taken a remarkable amount of effort to subdue Armaund's rage enough that he would not ruin everything by storming back to Paris and trying to behead Chauvelin himself. Thankfully, reason prevailed and their plans continued unaltered.

The house they had chosen as their base for this mission, was one they had used many a time before, due to its remarkable location and rather common exterior. It was not the kind of house one would expect an English spy to inhabit, being so lushly decorated, and almost a stone's throw from the wealthy district of the Place du Verdome and the Etoile. That was exactly what Percy was relying upon: a central location without the suspicion. It had been why he had purchased such a property many years ago. It was a testament to his choice that he had frequented this residence at least a dozen times since.

It had, however, been some time since his last visit. The sorry state that greeted the party as they navigated their way inside, and towards the upper level said as much. A thin layer of dust coated everything in sight, and numerous cloths were draped over the few items of furniture that remained. In addition, the iron gates that stood proud at the courtyard entrance had all but rusted shut.

They were forced to wait and watch as both Andrew, and Hastings, forced them open again through brunt force and the joint effort of their shoulders being rammed repeatedly as battering rams against the stiffened joints. Thankfully, they eventually swung open with a ear piercing creak, allowing the group to hurry inside.

Indeed, the property was a far cry from the splendour one would normally expect in such a residence, with its grand sweeping hallways, and ornate interior. This mattered little though, especially to the weary, determined and anxious group of men. It was perfectly suited to their current needs. Besides, it was not as if they could afford to maintain a staff to keep the house up and running at its peak when secrecy was the priority - not comfort.

They would have to make do, just as they had often in the past. These English gentlemen were no strangers to hardship after all.

Having made it inside, the League had taken up residence in the upper level of the house. They had spread out across the main living room, claiming tables and settees for themselves. There was no need to utilise the numerous other rooms in the house. It truly had become their military headquarters, despite the assortment of bottles, maps and trunks littered about the room which only added to the eclectic tone of the place.

The tone spread as the group dispersed into different conversations, finally trying to decide the plan of action best to take now that they were in Paris. Opinions varied, as did their information and assumptions.

"First, we need to locate where he would be keeping her," Armaund piped up. "Perhaps somewhere near his old district? He did have a property not too far from here, on the border of the eastern quarter."

"Possibly," Percy muttered, thinking over the possibility himself. Though, the likelihood of Chauvelin doing something so obvious seemed unlikely.

"Unless he has found somewhere else to keep her?" Tony added, clearly sharing his concerns. "Some place new, discreet?"

Hastings shook his head. "You forget the man clearly wants to be found. I doubt he will remain completely out of sight. How else does he wish to lure us in?"

"Yet, as true as all that may be, something about this feels odd," Percy sighed, shaking his head in agitation. "I can not place my finger on what exactly, but there is something here that does not make sense to me. It does not feel like one of Chauvelin's games."

"What do you mean?" Armaund asked slowly. "You think someone else is involved somehow? That, someone else is behind all this?"

Percy paused. It was a theory he had been pondering since the night of the incident at Blakeney Manor. "If Chauvelin is not the only man involved in this scheme then it would be logical to assume that his assistance would be coming from someone of high importance? Someone who has a grudge to bear with us. Why else would he act now after our agreement? Why else would he have done something so daring?"

Will nodded in understanding. He may have not asked many questions since it had all begun, but William Ffoulkes was a fast learner. From listening alone he had gathered most of what he needed to to know the severity of what Percy was saying to him. "You mean, you believe someone prompted him into it?"

Percy nodded. "I know not what to think anymore, but there is an unusual coincidence to the matter, do you not think?"

"I'll see if I can not find out if Chauvelin has assistance with this whole scheme."

"Good," Percy nodded, turning back towards the men gathered around him. "In which case Armaund, you must reach out to your old contacts whilst the others see what they can deduce from the streets. I myself shall head over to the palace, and see what I can detect."

"Percy," Tony sighed softly, shaking his head. "Do you think that is wise, considering Chauvelin has made this trap for you? He will expect you to try one of your usual methods to try and locate Cosette. It is far too dangerous for you to be near the ministry until we know for sure she is there. He wants to draw you out, remember? We can not allow him to manipulate us if we wish to return Cosette safely."

As much as he was loathed to admit it, Tony was right. Caution needed to guide them. Until they had more information at their disposal any dangerous espionage or grand plans would have to wait.

"You make a demned good point, Tony," he conceded, looking back towards the map on the center table. "Until we know more, our primary focus must be gathering intelligence. Luckily, I have a plan on just how to best achieve it."

* * *

A sudden groaning of moving iron and wood made Cosette's head lift, and she winced as the door opened. She was unable to determine how much time had passed since she had last closed her eyes, and fallen into a restless slumber.

"Get up," Fumier snapped.

"Why should I?" Cosette sniped back defiantly, unable to help herself. "What do you want? Come to brag some more? Or just to be a vile toad?"

Fumier started to chuckle, sounding oddly like a wheeze. "Oh, sadly no. Chauvelin wants to see you."

"And he sent you to fetch me?" Cosette scoffed, rolling over on the mat so that her back was all that faced the horrid creature. "What an obedient little dog you are."

Fumier's smile wavered a little, laced instead with a sudden silent fury and Cosette had no doubt he would have struck her again. Instead, though, he strode further into the room, hands shaking by his sides as he loomed over her.

"Watch your tongue, girl," he warned icily. "The master has said he wants you to join him for dinner, and you will."

"If he really wants me he can come and see me himself," Cosette replied back just as icily, refusing to stand even as he loomed closer to her, making her heart race in her chest.

"Well, my girl… the master said that you could either come yourself willingly or that I was to drag you there by force if necessary," Fumier smirked smugly, making Cosette want to strike him all the more. "I'll let you decide which way you prefer."

Good heavens. The man truly was vile, and by the way he had already edged even closer towards her Cosette knew he was deadly serious too.

"I'll come," she spat back sharply, leaping to her feet.

She remained still only long enough for him to remove her bonds before she pushed past him without a second glance. She would not give them the satisfaction of dragging her from this cell. She was stronger than that, and if they wanted to play games then she would play, even if only to maintain her dignity.

So, she hurried through the open doorway and out into the corridor, feeling relief at the fresh night breeze that greeted her there. At least the light was a nice change, as was the ability to move even if it was towards her captor.

It was a short march down the corridor before Cosette found herself in the designated doorway. To miss it would have been a challenge, indeed, considering the number of guards stood outside it. There were far more than Cosette had seen back down in the cells, and each seemed more finely dressed.

They were Chauvelin's personal detail.

The prospect was a daunting one - as if this night was not daunting enough as it was. Every stride felt labored. Cosette, nonetheless, kept her chin held as high as she could, and stood up straight as if she were about to enter the King's annual ball rather than a derelict looking study.

Were these really Chauvelin's quarters?

Cosette didn't really know what she'd been expecting to find. Fine furniture and lush decor had never seemed the man's style. He was far too practical for that. However, the simple wooden desk in a corner accompanied by an even simpler table and dining chairs still seemed out of place in the tableau before her. Almost as much as the man sat at them, helping himself to what seemed to be a feast of food.

The sight of the table made Cosette's stomach churn both in hunger, and in confusion. So many platters, full of foods of all kinds were spread out before her. That and the bottles of wine on the table made it seem as if there was some banquet being held in the room. Yet, there were only three chairs at the table… Who was supposed to be attending this bizarre display?

Had he really just invited her to dinner?

As if reading her mind Chauvelin looked up, gesturing to the empty seat beside him at the table in invitation. "Ah, there you are," he drawled. "You took your time."

"Well, your invitation wasn't exactly appealing. I had to consider my reply."

"And have you?"

"Yes," she sniped, forcing herself to edge toward the table. With a reluctant gulp, she placed herself in an empty seat, choosing the one opposite him as opposed to beside him. It still felt as if she was too close to the man. "You did not really leave me an awful lot of choice."

Still, just because she had accepted his invitation did not mean she actually had to partake in this macabre charade. Besides, for all she knew it could all be some cruel trick and she would be damned if she allowed him to hurt her any further. For that reason she sat up straight, staring at the table with disinterest as she watched him continue with his evening meal.

A moment or two later and Chauvelin glanced back at her, noting her hesitancy with clear disdain. "Are you not hungry?" he mused, eyeing her over the rim of his glass. "I know what scraps they serve here, you must be starving. Don't be stubborn just to prove a point. Starving yourself is foolish."

"And what do you care if I starve or not?" Cosette sighed, eyes narrowing at him across the table. "You said it yourself earlier - I am just a pawn in your games. I matter little to you."

"You're little use to me dead. You're little use to anyone then."

"How flattering." Still, she reached slowly for the chalice beside her, noting that it was filled with wine. Eat she would not, but drinking was not entirely foolish. Especially if it appeased him long enough to leave her alone.

"I actually do have no desire to hurt you," he sighed reluctantly. "I don't know how to make you believe that, but I do have a daughter of my own, did you know? I know what love a father has for a daughter."

"You? A daughter?" Cosette spluttered in disbelief, unable to swallow the news or the wine she had just drunk. He had to be joking.

"Indeed, as strange as it may sound to you. Her name is Fluerette, and I believe she has just had her third child."

"Really?" Cosette asked, unable to help herself. The sheer idea of such a thing was beyond comprehension. The domesticity and mundane nature of it seemed at odds with the man saying it. Though, the sincerity in his manner though told her he wasn't lying about it either. "Are you two close? Is she in France?"

"The funny twist in all this is that she is in England thanks to your father - of all people. He… he did me a turn many years ago and took her to England to save her from the chaos in France."

Cosette froze. "He… as in… Fluerette?" she choked as the pieces fell into place her mind. "As in… but she never said."

"You know her?"

She nodded absentmindedly as yet another betrayal stung her heart. Yet another lie she'd been told, and another person she couldn't trust. The list was growing by the day. "I know her well. She often visits at Blakeney Manor as a friend of the family, but she never said… She gave no hint of anything like this."

"Another secret kept from you," Chauvelin muttered, not without a sense of amusement. It made Cosette want to curse or hurl the contents of her glass at his face. However, she quickly decided against both options. Neither, she feared, would end well.

"But why would my father help you?" she snapped sharply, wiping the smile off of his face.

"As I said before, fathers know what love for a child is. Your mother had already had you by the time he came to my aid. You were only small, and your father is a righteous man at the best of times."

"So I'm gathering." There was a bitterness and a slither of pride in the words as they left her lips.

"He rescued her when she became swept up in the chaos of the later revolution. He then decided to take her to England where she would be safe, but also away from me. In a way, it was a kindness, as well as his final act of revenge."

It was a bitter truth to swallow. Who knew what man her father was really? A vigilante rogue who lived surrounded by mystery, death, and danger. She'd been blind for so long and now that the veil was finally being torn from her eyes Cosette was left unable to recognize anything that had once been so certain.

"You did not just invite me here for dinner and pleasantries, did you, monsieur?"

The question made Chauvelin pause, and smile in recognition of the confidence that laced her tone. "No, I did not," he nodded, finishing the last of his wine. "In fact, I asked you here to meet someone."

Cosette raised an eyebrow, confused by the sentiment. Then she turned her head, finally noticing the empty chair at the table. She'd thought nothing of it until then, and her heart plummeted. Anyone who was invited to this table could only bring trouble with them.

"Who?"

"Why don't you see for yourself?" Chauvelin purred, standing as he gestured to the open doorway and the man stood there. "Here he is, right on time. May I introduce you to Monsieur Fouché?"

Cosette's heart stopped. Her eyes widened as she turned her head to the doorway, and gazed upon the most intimidating man she'd ever beheld.

So this was the man behind the legend? She did not know what she'd been expecting. A set of horns about his head? Some horrifying disfigurement? Maybe even thunderbolts dancing behind him like some truly wicked villain out of a romance? The man she saw before her definitely did not fit any of those categories.

"Lady Blakeney."

The greeting was too cold to be courteous, no matter how much the man smiled at her and bobbed his head in a mock bow. It pinned her to the seat, rendering her unable of even choking out a greeting, let alone rising to bow or curtsey for him. Then again, did one curtsey when meeting the Devil?

"I apologise I have not come to you sooner, but I trust my associate here has been taking ample care of you." The man spared a gesture, flicking his hand to indicate he meant Chauvelin. However, he did not deign to actually look at the man he called an associate. Whether it was arrogance or disinterest, Cosette could not be entirely sure. Either way, she loathed the man already. "Unfortunately, I had work to do, salvaging what little of my career is left."

"That would explain why you have been gone so long," she retorted swiftly. "Considering how much work you have ahead of you, I am surprised you even found time to visit us."

A wicked laugh escaped Fouché as he turned his full attention towards her, his eyes taking in every last detail. She did the same, sweeping her gaze across his weathered, and twisted face.

Most interesting to her was the proud way in which he carried himself, which was only furthered by the fact he was also dressed immaculately. Everything about the man screamed superiority, and as if still believed himself to be in a position of authority - not disgrace. Again, whether this was arrogance or delusion, she could not be sure.

Subtly Cosette lowered her hand, and the knife from the table setting within it, tucking it in the folds of her skirt. The cold steel was enough to relieve her a little, but only a little, as she continued to watch the man before her.

"You really are a Blakeney, after all," he purred, strolling toward their table. "I did not truly believe Chauvelin's reports, but he was right about you: you truly are every bit your parents' daughter."

"I shall take that as a compliment."

"I would, considering the alternative," he smirked in reply, prowling ever closer, till his hands rested on the sides of her chair and his face hovered only centimeters from her own. "Oh, and may I suggest you return the knife you just stole, back on to the table? I would hate it were you to injure yourself through any clumsy accidents."

Cosette froze, both in terror and in shame at being caught. She felt like a naughty child as she lifted the knife into view, and sat back in her chair.

There was nothing between them now, and the air was sharp and cold. Chauvelin didn't so much as blink as Fouché, with horrific gentleness, pried the knife from her hands and sent it scattering across the room.

"That won't do you any good, anyway," Fouché said to her. "If you were wise, you would be screaming and running from this place, from these people."

"Let her go," Chauvelin said, bristling, but didn't advance forward. A kind of panic had entered his eyes, and he glanced across the room from her to Fouché. Clearly, he feared the man he worked with, as much as she did. "Enough. You have made your point, why torture the poor girl?"

"What would you have me do, Chauvelin? Pamper her aristocratic ass instead?"

"Just leave her be. Hurting her adds no service to your cause."

"But it is such fun to have someone so fragile. I had forgotten that humans are as easy to shatter as eggshells," Fouché said, as he ran a finger across the base of her throat. Cosette shuddered, her eyes burning. "Look at how delightful she is—look how she's trying not to cry out in terror. It would be quick, I promise." Had Cosette retained any semblance of control over her body, she might have vomited. Especially, as he continued, "a promise I will not be making for your father when we inevitably snare him in this trap of ours."

That was all it took to wake Cosette from her terrified stupor. A primal urge to destroy the threat he posed was all that drove her mind.

She lunged sharply. Her hands clawing forward as she went to strike him, maim him, stop him - anything to stop the horrific danger he promised.

She did not make it far.

Her hand had only just made contact with his face, when it was wrenched off again, pulled back by the guards that had miraculously re-entered the room at the first sound of trouble.

"I fear our guest has become overtired," Fouché cackled, straightening himself as if he had not just been near assaulted. The only sign otherwise was a small series of scratches on his cheek. "She wishes to retire back in her cell, for the night."

Cosette struggled against the arms of the guards. They were simply too strong, holding her back from finishing her attack. Instead, she stared helplessly as Fouché approached, and turned her chin to stare directly at him. She could not miss his threat.

"I have enjoyed finally meeting you, Lady Blakeney but tomorrow my informants will leave a message for your father, telling him where to find you, and detailing a trade agreement between us- his life for yours."

Cosette stiffened against her captors. "He is not foolish enough to accept that. Besides, do you even know where to find him?"

Fouché smirked as if amused by her question. "Lady Blakeney, it is not a matter of us finding your father but allowing him to find us. His network will do the work for him, we merely have to make sure they have something interesting to tell him. Then he will come to us."

"You bastard-"

A sickening slap silenced her before she could finish the curse.

Fouché turned back to Chauvelin, unfazed by the casual violence he had just inflicted. "Well, this was entertaining. The most fun I've had in a long while, actually."

For that comment alone Cosette wanted to rip his eyes out, especially as he turned his wicked grin towards her. "I'll give your father your regards, Lady Blakeney."

Cosette struggled again, but it was to no avail as she was hauled from the room and into the night.

As she was dragged back to her cell she knew only one thing: she had to leave and fast. By tomorrow night it would be too late - she had to stop him, and to do that she needed to leave this hellish place.

It was time to make her escape.


	11. Chapter 10

_**Merry Christmas! Sorry for my absence. Essays, Uni life and my other fanfic (A Dark Knight Rises) have been taking over my life. Still, I can never truly forget Cosette or Percy, so here is the next dramatic installment. Apologies for any errors or if it does not flow as well. I've not written anything this action-packed in a while and it was a bit rusty.**_

 _ ***Trigger warning - there is minor violence/assault in the first section of this chapter if that is a concern for anybody.**_

 _ **Other than that, feel free to review, follow, favourite or even just message me. I'd love to hear from you even if it is just to say hi or discuss these amazing novels and characters.**_

 _ **Thesilentmage x**_

* * *

"Never hold back your step for a moment… never doubt that your courage will grow, hold your head even higher and into the fire we go…"

The gravelly tone of her sore throat distorted the melody, but in the echo of the cell Cosette could have sworn it sounded as if her own father were there singing it as he always had. It was odd that at such a time as this, this was what loitered in her mind; a childish song.

What good was it to her now? Perhaps it was because of the feeling it stirred inside her chest, remembering how her father would often sing it to her on a stormy night, or when she was too afraid to first try and ride a horse.

"It is a song of courage," Percy would whisper. And right then, she could use all the courage she could muster, even if it came from singing a song she thought long forgotten.

Perhaps Cosette also sang it because solitude was a weary thing. Even living in a house as big as Blakeney manor, Cosette had never had much experience with solitude. There had always been servants, and her family, to fill the silence with the hustle and bustle of everyday life. It was unusual for her to ever truly be alone, which made this hellish experience a novelty.

What she would have given in those hours to have merely heard someone say her name, or even to strike up a conversation. Yet, the moment she heard the screech of door hinges shattering the silence, Cosette regretted the thought. There were some conversations worse than never-ending solitude, and this was clearly one of them.

Fumier may not have been as vocal of his hatred for her, but Cosette could see the loathing lacing his every movement, his every glance toward her. As he prowled into her cell that evening it was practically radiating from the man. However, unlike their somewhat established routine, he was not accompanied. Instead, he had come alone.

"Good evening," Cosette groaned, trying to mask her curiosity at the situation. "Where's Chauvelin then? Didn't he feel like accompanying you? Or even Fouché?"

"They were too busy to visit you today," Fumier answered, "but we would not want you getting lonely now, would we?"

"So you have come to inflict your presence on me instead?"

Fumier nodded, a sickening satisfaction visible in his eyes as they stayed firmly glued to her. "What can I say? I felt we needed a little chat… one on one."

A sense of pure horror overwhelmed her as she realised the horrid truth.

"He does not know that you are here, does he?" she whimpered. There was no other explanation for the overwhelming confidence that poured from him. It was as if someone had let a wild dog loose from the leash.

"No," Fumier replied in an all too smug tone. "He does not, you English brat."

With that, his countenance changed. His smile morphed into a snarl as he closed the distance between them like a fox closing in on a kill. In fact, it was probably the fastest she had ever seen the man move, including when he had attacked her back at Blakeney Manor. Then again, he'd probably been waiting to do this since that fateful night which felt a lifetime ago.

One minute he was stood by the door, the next he was upon her, striking her as he hurled her into the wall with shocking strength.

The sensation was sickening as her head made contact with the solid stone wall. Everything exploded into bursts of white light and agony that made her cry out.

"I've been waiting to do this since the moment I laid my eyes on your pampered, entitled English ass," his voice echoed, sounding as if it were bouncing off the interior of a cave.

Cosette was not unfamiliar with pain. Often she had been thrown from her horse, and many a time had she been caught by the end of a blade when fencing. Still, the pain that blossomed in her skull as she slammed onto the floor was unlike anything she had ever experienced before. It was enough to make her eyes sting with tears as she tried to recollect herself.

But the pain and shock were enough to hinder and cost her those few precious seconds she should have been using to fight back. Instead, she lay there, face down, a groan escaping her lips as she curled inwards.

"This is where I finally get to make you, and your bastard of a father, pay for everything your family has ever done to me."

As if to prove his point he pulled his leg back before sending it ruthlessly into her side.

Again. And again. And again.

His foot swung mercilessly into her ribs, expelling any air left in her. Each blow sent ripples of agony through her as she curled up tighter, desperate to cease his attack. It felt like everything inside her was shattering.

"You'll both die. Him first, then you."

His breath was hot against her cheek as he dropped to his knees, leering over her trembling form. The glint in his eyes was sickeningly victorious as his hand crept toward her, seizing her by the throat.

A strangled gasp was all that escaped her lips. How had it come to this? How had her life disintegrated to this point - to her facing her own mortality so brutally?

Viciously, Fumier hauled her to her feet. He slammed her back against the wall, hard enough to make her vision blur. His grip never wavered.

"Then again," he hissed, tightening his grip on her throat. "Why not rid us of you now? One less aristo pig… besides, your father wouldn't know until it was too late."

She was actually going to die. Here. Now. In this cell, strangled by none other than Fumier himself.

The fear finally reached her heart in a terrifying burst. It was all it took to make her mind up. It was as if it had triggered something inside her that made her send her fist forward as she struck out.

Fumier had clearly not been expecting it as he tumbled back, clutching his face as she dragged her nails down it.

She did not shy away from using her fists, her elbows, and her teeth when at close range, or when her life was so clearly in the balance. It called for her to shed the skin of Lady Blakeney, and instead evolve into someone different. Who that was Cosette had yet to discover, but there'd be time aplenty if she made it out of this cell alive.

Cosette knew to press her advantage as best she could. She did not hesitate as her foot made contact with his chest, kicking him back further towards the wall with terrifying force. She watched as his head struck the wall, sending him sprawling to the floor in a heap.

Her foot slammed down, whacking his skull into the stone flooring, ensuring he stayed there as he collapsed into unconsciousness. She wasn't taking chances.

Silence.

The sound of her heart pounding. The sound of her laboured breaths. These were the only sounds that filled the cell as Cosette stood there, witnessing the results of her actions. All at once she tried to swallow down the shock that threatened to overwhelm her completely.

Had she really done that? Was he alive? Had she just-?

No. She could still see the steady rise and fall of his chest. To her somewhat relief, Cosette realised he was still alive. Just unconscious.

Well, she didn't exactly have long then. For that reason, she refused to stop and think. Keeping herself moving was all she could do. So, she knelt beside him. She drew the dagger he always wore from his belt, and sighed in relief, knowing exactly what she was after.

If she was to make it out of here she was going to need a weapon. Having secured it, she reached for the other item she needed: his keys.

Slipping the knife into the top of her boot, she rolled her shoulders a few times, the left one still aching, as was most of her body if she was being perfectly honest. She vowed to get in a few hits of her own against Fumier if the occasion ever re-arose.

With a trembling breath, she waited a few moments to make sure no one was coming her way. The last thing she needed was to give any guards positioned outside her room any reason to find her or raise the alarm. Those idiots were far better off on the other side of the door, and out of her sight.

Soon she prayed she'd be able to get away from this forsaken cell. Her shoulders were burning, her body stinging from her beatings. The sooner she was released, the better. It was this thought alone that kept her determination strong as she kept moving.

Minutes seemed to drag by as Cosette glanced at the door, and inserted the key into the lock as quickly as she could, before beaming in joy as it clicked.

Cosette cursed in disbelief, hastily yanking the door open as she swam through a fog of pain. Her whole body seemed to be burning and throbbing at once, as the feeling was regained in her weakened limbs. Had she not been careful she would have fallen to the floor with sheer fatigue.

Instead, her hand clasped at the cold stone wall. Her chest rose slowly as she took several deep breaths. Finally, she mustered the courage. Her head cautiously edged forward, peering out into the darkened corridor.

To her relief, she saw no one nearby. In fact, the corridor appeared nothing more than a deserted inky tunnel that seemed to run on into the distance. How far it was could not be easily detected in the dark but Cosette knew this was her only chance. She could not afford to be hesitant.

For that reason, she said a silent prayer and edged out into the darkness for herself. She allowed herself to turn and for her feet to guide her the only route she knew well enough - the same route she had been marched down some nights before for that ill-fated dinner with Monsieur Fouché.

The fact she had not laid eyes on the man since was enough to make Cosette shudder apprehensively. Perhaps that was the reason, or perhaps it was out of fear that she truly did not know where she was headed, nor what was awaiting her when she finally got there.

For several minutes she took many twists and turns, stopping only to cling to the shadows whenever she thought she heard the echo of footsteps in front of her. Each time she would wait till she was sure enough she was alone to continue.

"Where am I?" she demanded quietly, trying to make sense of the labyrinth around her.

It was only the faint echo of voices ahead that told her she was heading in the right direction. She only had to make it back out into the courtyard and then she could find her way from there. Then again, she had no idea of the layout of the building - a building swarming with men and guards, all of which who would have no hesitation in throwing her back into her cell should they discover her. Well, that was if she was lucky and they didn't kill her first instead.

She suppressed the thought without hesitation and tried to focus her attention back on the darkness before her. From what she remembered the other night, as she had marched to Chauvelin's quarters, she should have been near a staircase she assumed lead towards the back serving quarters.

Where else could it have lead when she had clearly seen two women disappear down it, carrying empty plates and wash baskets of officer's uniforms? She was in, what was clearly, the police barracks which adjoined the cells.

It was her only hope. If she could make it there, she had a better chance of blending in and slipping out through the outer courtyard as if she was merely another worker and not an escaped prisoner. It was the only plan she had, and there wasn't any time for another.

Cosette prayed this worked, and without another moment to question her actions, marched down the corridor and towards the visible staircase ahead.

There was a steady thrum from below as servants dashed back and forth, each on their own task within the walls of the ministry. The clatter of footfalls, and murmurs of french, filled the air in a comforting blanket, one Cosette was happy to enfold herself in to.

It was easier said than done, but she kept walking. Her eyes fixed ahead as if she knew exactly where she was going. Her hands even swiped a discarded basket from a nearby pile as she marched past, clutching it to her chest as if it was a lifeline.

Considering no one stopped her she counted it a success. Everyone was apparently too busy, and too tired, to pay her any attention. As she came to the end of the corridors, and out into the darkness of the night part of her couldn't believe she'd made it.

She'd actually made it.

All that stood before her now was a half-empty courtyard and a blocked gate. Indeed, several guards were sat about but their backs were to her and there wasn't any reason they should have given her a second glance if they believed her to be another servant. With any luck, she could make her way through and down to the gates up ahead, and through the door, she spied several other servants using as their exit from the Ministry.

To her surprise, the walls were also lower out here. Clearly, there was not such a need for defence outside the building, as there was inside. Then again, no one probably expected any prisoner to be capable of making their way out from below successfully.

Then again, they had never held a Blakeney.

Her knuckles turned white as she clenched the basket like a shield against her. It took all her restraint to stare ahead, and try to keep as nonchalant an expression on her petrified face as possible.

It was only a few feet away… her escape… her freedom…

One step. Then another. Agonizingly slowly, Cosette left the safety of the archway and began to make her way across the final stretch, but also the most perilous. Even if the only light was that of the moon and flickering torches Cosette felt as if a stage light had been cast upon her.

Thankfully, the sound of rolling dice on an overturned crate and the raucous laughter of men told her that the guards were well and truly distracted for the time being. That was enough of a signal for her to continuing walking as if nothing was happening. Indeed, ahead of her several other people were heading towards the gate.

True, none of them looked as if they were workers like her. Still, there was no reason anybody would look twice at her if she merely kept walking -

It was then she knew she'd been spotted, as a cry rang out behind her.

"Halt! You there! Stop!"

In a heartbeat she had cast the basket aside and was bolting for her life, tearing across the square and towards her only hope of an exit.

She wasn't waiting to find out if they had indeed been yelling at her, nor why. Instinct and adrenaline were all that was guiding her now as fear silenced any hope of rational thought. The pounding of footsteps against the cobbles behind her only urged her onwards.

Cosette knew without even looking that the guards must have been gaining on her. Her injured body was not as fast as she wished, and one of them was even faster than she anticipated.

His fist clawed at her skirt. Gripping it tightly, he hauled her back hard enough to cause her to stagger backward.

She cried out. She lost her footing, and almost tumbled back to the floor. However, she latched onto the man's coat lapel to steady herself.

Cosette ducked, avoiding his fist as it swung toward her face. Her hand reached down to her boot as she leaped up, knocking the man aside and making quick work of him.

He was all too slow, and all too cumbersome to be much of a true threat, but that did not stop her panicked expression as she fought with all she could. Only when he lay at her feet did she even breathe, choking a breath of relief.

She would never forget the feeling of the blade against bone and skin. She would never forget the warmth of his blood as it poured onto her hand. Nor, would she forget the strangled gasp he had made as she had withdrawn the knife.

She hurried on with hardly a glance behind her. The wall was only just ahead and the rest of the guards were only running faster, bellowing in alarm as she slay one of their own. In less than a minute the courtyard would be swarming with police.

Her wounds had re-opened in all of the excitement and Cosette wasn't entirely sure what was going on with her shoulders. Yet, that was of little consequence.

She said a silent prayer and ran hastily. Her feet scrabbled against the brickwork as she vaulted over the small gap in the wall and landed awkwardly on the other side. She didn't even realise she was holding her breath until she had made it and leaped to her shaky feet with a deep gasp.

With that, Cosette took in a deep cleansing breath, grateful to be free of the dungeon. She started towards the city ahead and ran for her life into the heart of Paris.

* * *

Percy was worried. It was obvious by the fact he had said nothing and done nothing since he had returned but stared mindlessly into the fire that roared in the hearth. To add to that his brow was furrowed in concentration and his face resting upon his hands, which were pressed into a steeple.

Andrew was nervous for his friend. Seeing him like this was rare and troubling. He had tried to ask him to eat something after he had returned but had merely received a clipped, "No." He knew Percy was not being cruel. He was just preoccupied. It was understandable in the circumstances.

They had all been out all day scouring for information of Cosette and Chauvelin. So far there had been nothing. It seemed as if once more Chaumbertin had simply vanished into thin air. Indeed, he had become as elusive as the Pimpernel himself.

Andrew had little else to do. Hastings was still out, as were Will and Armaund. Tony was asleep next door and he was alone with Percy here. He knew it would be a little while till they returned and they would have a lead, then they could have something to go on. Once more patience was the main thing on the cards, like missions before it was all about waiting - waiting till the time was right.

Andrew slicked a hand through his hair and glanced up at the door as a knock rang out. The door opened slowly and with an eerie creak. It was Hastings.

Or he thought it was.

It was hard to be sure considering the man before him wore a tattered, stained uniform and red cap. The cap was also adorned with the tricolour rosette of the new French Empire. His face was also unrecognisable, buried beneath grime and soot. Andrew also noted he smelt distinctly of tobacco and alcohol.

Andrew stood up anxiously. He had obviously been in the lower quarter of Paris.

"Anything?" he began hastily, almost interrogating the poor man with his desperate plea.

Hastings ripped off his cap and sighed. That was answer enough. "Nothing. Will and I met at the bridge, but there was no trace of her. No one has seen or heard anything apparently. Armaund is still making inquiries with his old contacts within the committee. He's taken Will with him for support."

The air hung thickly between them, dripping with unspoken disappointment and frustration. It seemed as if everything was going against them tonight. For instance, where was Will now? Andrew only prayed he was alright. They didn't need another child of theirs going missing. He shook his head and strode to the cabinet behind him.

"Brandy?" he muttered, reaching inside and retrieving the only bottle that had a visible label on it. God knew what the others were, but Andrew trusted Percy's taste in alcohol to know it would be nothing the man were not willing to drink himself. Still, whereas Percy was always a wine man, Andrew would always prefer a good old brandy, and after the day they'd had he had more than deserved it.

Hastings nodded thankfully as Andrew handed him a glass. "Thank you. I am meeting again with Will in an hour or so. Where's Tony?"

"Asleep, I hope. He looked exhausted earlier." Andrew sighed gently. His gaze was clearly focused on the ajar door beside them.

Tony was not alone in that he had worn himself ragged with their frantic activities. He was merely the first to succumb to his exhaustion, finally allowing himself to be shepherded into bed by a rather concerned looking Armaund.

Hastings nodded eyeing across the room curiously. "Has Percy said anything?" he wondered.

Andrew shook his head. The pain of his concern was evident. "No. We need to give him some time till we find some leads," came his automated reply.

Hastings sighed. "Let's hope we get some good news soon then," he replied.

Their leader had never coped well with waiting, especially when such odds were at stake. The sooner they received some news the better, for all of them, including Percy.

Andrew nodded. "I'll drink to that."

Hastings lifted his cup in reply, and managed a weary, "count me in."

* * *

Cosette kept her pace brisk, knowing her time was limited. Any moment Chauvelin could notice she was gone, and her head start would be ruined. It took all the composure she had to keep herself from running, knowing that would draw far too much attention to her.

Right now, she had to blend in and hide as best she could. She had no money or papers. That meant trying to find her way out of the city, or towards a harbour would be impossible. She'd hardly make it further than five feet before she was caught.

Cosette couldn't help but bitterly think how if the situation had been reversed her father would have had no difficulty escaping. Instead, it was she who was trapped, helpless and foolish as she was.

Gads! She still couldn't believe he hadn't told her… Cosette cursed as her side began to throb even harder with every step further into the winding streets. Looking as battered as she did was not helping her blend in any easier either. It was why she wasted no time in swiping the first coat she came across, hanging over the back of a man's cart.

It was faded and worn, and an unusual brown colour, but she didn't truly mind. Slipping it on as she walked, she felt relief as every bruise and scrape on her body was covered. Her hands subtly masked themselves in the depths of the two front pockets.

She tried to ignore the blood on her hands, and what it meant: she'd killed someone. She had actually slain another human being, albeit in self-defense but still, the knowledge made her want to simultaneously cry, vomit and pass out.

But there wasn't time… not until she was safe…

It would be alright. Chauvelin had said it himself - her father would come for her. He had to be in the city walls already, looking for her. She merely had to tell him she had escaped and he'd come and find her. She also had to make sure she did it before he heard Fouché's stupid message. Cosette merely had to make it till then, or find a way to find him first. Then they'd be alright, and could leave this godforsaken city after all… if only she had faith to believe that they could.

She had never felt more alone or terrified in her life.


	12. Chapter 11

_**Good afternoon everybody. I hope everyone had an amazing Christmas and New Year. Here's another chapter for all you lovely people who messaged me after the last one.**_ _ **As always, please feel free to favourite, follow or review. I also love hearing from you guys if you wanna message me about anything or just say hi. I know I repeat this every chapter - so sorry! - it just means a lot to know people out there are reading and enjoying what I'm doing.**_

 _ **Thesilentmage x**_

* * *

Percy sighed. He could hear Andrew and Hastings in the other room. He was being distant but he couldn't plan anything when he was being talkative. If anything though, it grieved him. It was behaviour like this that had driven him and Margot apart all those years ago. Luckily things had been fortunate enough to bless him with his wife's love and devotion that had sent her to France to save him. Twice. His men were loyal and deserved better than this harsh treatment but he needed to think.

His head was practically swimming with thoughts … too many to comprehend. All of them, as confusing and painful as the ones before. What else did he expect? What else did they expect? This was no ordinary mission… this was no ordinary rescue. It was his daughter! His daughter…

Percy groaned as he fought back another pain filled urge to break something. Every moment that passed without answers, without knowing if she was safe, was another thorn to his heart. He could still remember the precise moment his world had changed forever.

 _It had been an early spring evening when it had all started. The air was light and floral as the scent of the blossom tree outside wafted into the corridor. In many ways, the evening was perfectly ordinary. There had been no sign it would turn into one of the most significant evenings of his life. It had only been when he had heard the distinct sound of his heavily pregnant wife's pained cry echoing down the hall that his world had turned inside out and upside down._

 _Percy had flown to her side as if hell itself was after him. What he had found had set his heart racing: Marguerite, clutching her stomach, bent over as she tried to swallow another pained cry._

 _It could only mean one thing, and his fears were confirmed as she turned to him, sensing his presence, as she choked the words, "the baby's coming."_

 _"_ _The baby?" was all he had managed to splutter. It was as if the air in his lungs had vanished as he staggered to her side, supporting her weight as best he could. "Now?"_

 _"_ _Yes, Percy," Marguerite snapped back sharply, turning whiter with every passing second. "Now!"_

 _It had been hours since then. Hours of white-knuckled agony. Hours of pacing and trying not to crumble from the sounds of his wife's agonized screams down the hall. No matter how many doctors or midwives were in there with her, it would do nothing to ease his terror until he saw conclusively that both his wife and child were safe._

 _He was so enraptured in his thoughts that he almost missed the sound of the door opening at the end of the hall, and Dr. Forster calling his name, "Lord Blakeney?"_

 _Percy's head whipped up at the sound of his name._

 _"_ _Would you like to meet your child?"_

 _His heartbeat was deafening as Percy staggered to his feet and let them draw him to the one place he desired to be: with his family._

 _His family? zounds. How long had he craved to utter those words? To have a family of his own, to not be alone in the world anymore, to replace the ache that had been left by his own parents._

 _Percy Blakeney had never felt more blessed than as he hurried to his wife's side. Of course, the room was still dark, with the drapes drawn and only the roaring fire and candles to bathe the place in an angelic hue._

 _The maids and nurses had clearly done a thorough job, as all traces of dirty sheets, bowls of water and towels were nonexistent. In fact, the room had been prepared to appear as if nothing extraordinary had even happened._

 _Even his wife looked somewhat normal, propped up against a mountain of pillows, dressed in a fresh white nightgown._

 _"_ _Percy," she beamed breathlessly. Her attention drew immediately to him, now the only other occupant of the room. "Come in… all is well."_

 _Marguerite looked absolutely radiant, with her hair tumbling free. Yet, the look in her eyes was what sent Percy's heart racing, especially as he followed her gaze down to the object cradled in her arms, wrapped snugly in a white woolen blanket._

 _The moment his eyes landed on the small bundle in his wife's arms Percy Blakeney felt his entire world grind to a startling halt. It was as if everything and everyone had simply vanished, frozen in their own dimension._

 _This feeling was one he had only felt on a few occasions in his life, the cause always being his dear beloved Marguerite. He had never loved another the way he loved that woman; the woman who was smiling at him sluggishly as she cradled their precious bundle in her arms. Yet, gazing at the child he knew was his, Percy knew he could add another to that precious list of those dearest to him in all the world._

 _"_ _Is that…?" he murmured, barely a ghost of a whisper._

 _"_ _Yes," Marguerite nodded encouragingly, turning the child ever so slightly so that they were clearer to see. "Would you like to meet her?"_

 _Percy nodded. His steps were hesitant, almost as if afraid of spooking both mother and child. A moment later and he gently sank on to the mattress beside them, his eyes wide and burning with pride._

 _"_ _We have a daughter," she all but whispered, adoration dripping from every syllable. "I'm sorry it's not a son but-"_

 _"_ _She's the most beautiful thing I have ever seen," was Percy's only response. He seemed entirely unbothered by the manner of her sex, instead all too enraptured with gazing into her sapphire eyes and clasping her hand within his. "I love her more than my foolish words can say, Margo. She's perfect. Utterly perfect, and all ours."_

 _Marguerite couldn't deny her tears as they brimmed in her eyes, matched only by her husband's. The pride and adoration they shared at that moment was divine, and neither seemed able to contain it. In fact, as their lips met it was if they had transcended into a whole new realm of bliss._

 _"_ _I love you," they both proclaimed as they drew apart a moment later, and looked back to their daughter._

 _"_ _This, dearest little one," Marguerite began with a pleasant giggle, "is your father Percy."_

 _"_ _A pleasure to meet you, Mademoiselle," Percy drawled in his usual teasing tone. He even placed a delicate kiss to the back of her tiny hand. A soft gurgling noise was all the reply he received. However, the way his face lit up it was as if Percy Blakeney had just heard the key to eternal life._

 _How he longed to stay in that moment forever. He probably would have as well, were it not for the sound of hesitant knocking at the bedroom door that interrupted their revery._

 _"_ _Come in," he called._

 _The door opened slowly, to reveal a rather shy looking maid standing there, head bowed. "I do beg your pardon you lordship and ladyship," she began with a simple curtsey, "it's just that Lord Ffoulkes demanded I bring him news of the child. He and the other guests are waiting in the drawing room in quite the state of anxiety."_

 _"_ _I'm sure they are," Marguerite laughed._

 _Percy had all but forgotten his guests downstairs, who had remained through all the excitement. Their evening had been interrupted, and he knew better than to believe any of them would have gone home at such an occasion. As it was, Andrew and Armaund had all been taking it in turns to restrain Percy from bursting into the bedroom when his anxiety reached its peak._

 _Now that the whole trial was over that panic and desperation was replaced with nothing but relief and joy. He couldn't wait to share their wondrous news with the others. He couldn't wait to introduce them all to the newest member of his family…_

 _"_ _Tell them all is well, extremely well," Percy whispered proudly, eyes never leaving his daughter's. "You can also tell them we have a beautiful baby girl… called Cosette?"_

 _"_ _What?" Marguerite gasped breathlessly. Her eyes widened as she turned towards her grinning husband. The confusion was clear to behold. "But… I thought we agreed we'd name the child after your parents?"_

 _"_ _Well," Percy beamed warmly, pressing a kiss to both his daughter and his wife's foreheads. "I changed my mind. As touching as that sentiment was Margo, I can't help but feel your mother's name would be more fitting for such a tender creature as this one. Joan, as much as I treasure it, feels like the wrong choice."_

 _"_ _Are you sure?"_

 _"_ _Absolutely," Percy smirked. "Besides, who need adhere to tradition? She is a Blakeney by birth, we needn't labour the fact with her name too. However, it is your decision as much as mine."_

 _"_ _Then Cosette is perfect." Her tone was resolute as she tried the name on her tongue. It was clear by the growing smile that she concurred. The name was perfect. "Cosette Violet Blakeney it is."_

 _"_ _Welcome to the family."_

The night felt as if it was a lifetime ago. How could it not?

Finally, he had had enough of thinking and stretched his weary limbs out and stood up. He must look a sight. However, he shook his head and marched across to the window. He was tired of that armchair and needed life. So gazing outside he felt a little relieved to see life below him. He would find Chauvelin soon and when he did-

Not now. He needed to talk to Andrew, Armaund, Hastings, and possibly Tony if he was awake. They needed to plan.

* * *

Cosette was afraid - for the first time in her life she felt uneasy about her position and a terrible longing for her comfortable home at Blakeney Manor clouded her weary thoughts.

The estate seemed all the more welcoming right now, instead of cowering here alone in the midst of Paris. Especially when her only company were the drunkards and their 'companions' that crowded the smoky rooms of the tavern. She was alone and would only survive this by cunning, and by her's alone.

Cautiously she had sheltered herself in a small alcove of the room, hoping to hide plainly in the safety of a crowd. Should Chauvelin or Fouché have tried to find her, the crowd would have provided enough of a deterrent to allow her an escape. Besides, after the solitude of the past week, Cosette was devouring the life around her. So many people… so much noise… it was enough to restore her spirits even a little. She was content to sit there a while and merely watch, sipping at the drink she had managed to procure from a passing barmaid.

Food was pointless when she could swallow nothing mainly due to her terrible anxiety that had succeeded in clogging her appetite. That and the fact she had no money did not help. A little longer and she would find some she promised herself. At this particular moment, she would settle for the warmth of the fire and shelter from the harsh rain that started to pour outside. Not to mention her freedom of Cityoenne Chauvelin …

Finding her father was all that mattered right now. She would do this alone and she would be strong, for her father and mother's sake if not her own. It was for them she would be strong. She was so close. A few more hours Cosette. Just a few more…

Who knew? Perhaps her father was amongst the very crowd around her? Or perhaps he and the others were close by already, searching for her still? It was a feeble hope to cling to, but it was all she had.

She turned around suddenly, startled by a voice from behind her. She twisted to see who was there. To her utmost surprise there stood a woman. Well, it seemed like a woman but her drunken stance made her hunched figure seem small and hid her face in the shadows of the candlelight.

This didn't stop Cosette as she noted the wild shiny copper hair hanging loosely around her shoulders which complemented her red ribbons well. Plus her tight fitting dress clung to her figure in an almost indecent way (and showed a lot of her décolletage). More surprising than that was the most unnatural smile upon her ruby luscious lips.

Nimbly Cosette leaped aside just as the woman collapsed on to the small stool opposite spilling wine in a large amount. Cosette just stared in curiosity crossing her arms waiting. In fact, it took a moment for the woman to look at her properly but even then she looked distant and well... Drunk. Her brow glistened with droplets of perspiration.

Cosette just watched a moment before deciding to talk to her. "Excuse me, Madame," she began slowly.

The woman stared at her. "Oui?"

"May I help you in any way at all?" she replied confused at this slightly older woman's purpose here. There were seats elsewhere.

"Are you Cosette Blakeney?" came her slurred reply. Cosette paused.

"And what if I were?" she snapped folding her arms and leaning back against the wall behind her. She looked rather unladylike with her crossed legs and arms and her balancing chair.

The woman however just laughed straightening herself upright. "Lord, you look like your father doing that," she scoffed jovially. Cosette stared in terror- how had she been found here? How did she know her father?

"My father?" she breathed desperately.

The woman nodded and smiled properly. Hence Cosette could finally see the colour of her eyes - which were a pale grey. Despite their murky colour they were wide in honesty. This Cosette could see plainly so allowed the woman to continue her speech.

"He and I were good friends. That is when he used to come to Paris for pleasure not, for his beloved Pimpernel," she chuckled taking another large swig from the half-full tankard. "It was one of these visits that, through me, he met your mother, dear Margot. For she used to act with me in the Theatre Des Arts. Quite an act we were."

Cosette urged her to be quieter and stopped and chewed her lip in thought. Suddenly it dawned on her. "You are Madame Juvai!" she exclaimed gasping.

"Indeed."

"But you are -"

"Retired? Oui. I now sing amongst mere men."

"I thought you were in Lourdes?" she whispered leaning in surprised. For it was true, she had heard her mother and father on several occasions discussing their friends' whereabouts now that the revolution was over.

Madame Juvai nodded, drinking another large gulp. "I moved back as I was visiting my sister for a while," she nodded. "I arrived back some weeks ago, and needless to say I was most surprised to find out that I was not the only visitor recently come to Paris."

"What?" Cosette blinked, suddenly trying to make sense of the woman before her. "What do you mean?"

"Why, your father of course," Madame Juvai purred raising an eyebrow, her voice sounding remarkably almost like a cat. Cosette gasped as she was handed Madame Juvai's nearly empty tankard.

"My father?"

"Indeed. He too is in Paris, or so I'd wager considering I saw none other than Andrew Ffoulkes himself snooping around my neighbourhood a day or so again, dressed in a ridiculous getup."

Cosette suddenly choked, spluttering her drink at the unexpected news. To hear they were here… It wasn't hard to read her expression and Madame Juvai shifted in her seat.

"He was inquiring after any news of Chauvelin, who used to occupy a house not too far from myself," she explained. "It is not a large leap of faith to assume your father must, therefore, be in France as well. They never go anywhere without the other."

"You saw them?" Cosette gasped, eyes wide as she all but sat up as if she had been burned.

Madame Juvai nodded. "I did. I also heard he was looking for a girl that fits your description. Again, not a hard leap to work out what he was looking for. Especially not when I saw you across the room a moment ago, looking the very image of your mother."

Cosette groaned, collapsing in despair on to the table with a thump. Cosette just buried her head under her hair and wished for her home. Percy's sweet and jolly voice and witty remarks filling the air around her; her mother's gentle smile and how much they loved each other.

Right now she longed to be before the great fire in the library with her parents, burying herself in literature and not... Well, soot and dust and a little tobacco. She wished for the sunlight to stream through the large paned windows and flood the room with light. She wanted to be surrounded by her friends and family.

A tight feeling in her chest made her want to yell out in fury. She was so desperately alone.

Madame Juvai smiled gently. "I do presume since Chauvelin seems to have been somehow mixed up in this whole affair that there weren't any young gentlemen involved with your disappearance, eh what?" she mocked almost identically to Percy, and it stung bitterly to hear.

Cosette gasped sitting up sharply. "Most certainly not!" she cried rather too loudly, causing several nearby tables to turn and stare at her.

"Good, I didn't think so," Madame Juvai replied merrily. Thank goodness for that, Cosette wondered. "If not though, why are you here?" she queried slowly fixing her gaze on the tired and weary girl.

So it was then Cosette told her the whole sorry tale. Surprisingly Madame Juvai seemed rather calm about it all, waiting until she had finished before making any remarks.

"Seems like one of the cold-blooded things Chauvelin would do - and Fouché for that matter," she breathed resolutely as a strand of her copper hair fell across her face. "Do you know where your father is right now?"

Cosette shook her head sadly. "No, I had hoped to find him around but he is far  
too careful for me to just find him, else Fouché would have found him too. I just pray he hasn't done anything stupid or rash yet," came her worried whisper.

Madame Juvai paused. "I think I know how you could find him," she began watching Cosette's eyes widen.

"You do?"

"Yes, there is a party tomorrow night at a house in the Rue de la Terre. It is for one of his friends - Monsieur Autorro Mazzerini. He has eyes all over Paris, and will almost certainly know how to find your father, and how to get you home," came her hasty reply.

"Then that is where I must go," she explained determinedly.

"I will take you there and if I send word to him now, he will surely be able to send your father a message and tell him you are alright."

It was almost too good to be true.

"He can find my father?" Cosette muttered skeptically.

"He can find anyone, my girl," Madame Juvai assured her. "He can tell your father you're alright, and to meet us at the party. It'll be safer that way - crowds are better to hide in. They're overt enough that they're practically covert."

"You have yourself a deal, Madame Juvai," she nodded extending a hand. Madame Juvai smiled shaking it firmly. Progress at last. "But can we not go now? Must we wait till tomorrow?"

Madame Juvai tutted, but not unsympathetically. "Are you mad? It's dark out and as you said, Monsieur Chauvelin will most likely be out looking for you. Fouché will also have his eyes out in the city, considering how much this means to him. You must stay with me till tomorrow, and let them lose the scent. Then we will go together and find your father. But first, you must relax and raise your spirits a little," came her demands. Cosette nodded, thankful of the kindness.

"Wait, what do you mean raise my spirits?" she whispered timidly. To her horror, Madame Juvai laughed and rose.

"You finish that," she commanded gently, tipping back the tankard against Cosette's lips till the burning liquid poured down her throat.

Cosette almost gagged but managed to swallow the horrid drink in one go.

"Good," Juvai praised, before helping her to her feet. "Home for us. You need rest, and I need to make plans. Let's get out of here before we're noticed."

* * *

Will was beginning to worry. They had spent all day dashing about Paris in search of Cosette, and what had they to show for it? Nothing. That's what. Not a thing. No rumour or whisper, nor a shred of information. He never surrendered but now, alone in this desolate hell hole, he felt close to it.

What would Percy say? What would his father say for that matter? He had failed them. He had failed Cosette too - his best friend in all the world.

He shook his head and ran a hand through his hair, glancing down at the drink in his hand. A drink wouldn't solve this, but it might ease his pains for a moment. Clasping the grimy holder firmly he tipped back his head and gulped down the lukewarm liquid. It burned his chest warmly.

He glanced around the room desperately and sunk onto the small rickety stool beside him. The seat wobbled uncertainly and Will nearly felt himself tumbling over. Was nothing in this place even remotely decent?

However his attention was soon drawn towards the man who was steadily approaching him: He was well built and dressed in shabby clothes, a soldiers uniform?- Many of which had several holes in them. A darkly coloured scarf was wound around his neck and worn boots shuffled along with him. He seemed unshaven and smelt foul, of alcohol and urine?

He wrinkled his nose in disgust and shuffled away from him. The man approached quicker and plonked down beside him.

"Will?" he asked.

Will looked up and smiled. Oh yes… Beneath the grime, he could now see him clearly. That and the deep British accent helped him. Beneath the ostentatious get up was none other than Hastings. Who else would pick this beaten up den to quench their thirst in?

"Good God man! Lose your clothes did you?" Will chuckled merrily, eyeing his get up. Hastings groaned at him and rubbed his chin woefully.

"This retched get up was all I could find. I smell atrocious and am in need of a severe wash."

"I'll say. What did you do? Roll around in a pig pen or something? You smell worse than the sewers do."

"I had little choice-" he began. It seemed however that his voice became swallowed up in a roar of voices.

People all around were singing, clearly swept up in another night of drunken revelry.

Will turned, watching the sight with an odd fascination. It was like nothing he had ever witnessed before. By contrast, Hastings smiled a grin of familial affection. Clearly, it was a sight he was more than accustomed to.

"These Frenchies and their singing," he sighed affectionately.

Will watch him lazily steal his drink and guzzle down the contents. He offered no protest. It was hard not to admire the spectacle. It wasn't as if he had ever been the type of person to frequent taverns. There was a certain freedom in the air in the way people drank, danced and gambled without a care who was watching. In a way, it was spellbinding. It was a whole world away from the constant scrutiny of Almack's and London society.

Or so it was until Will noticed the latest members to join the revelry. As he saw the three men entering through the doorway, it was their attire that sent his heart into a flutter. He may have only been in Paris a handful of days, but he had come to recognize the French Police uniform anywhere.

To say he was surprised to see the guards in here, and so early was an understatement. They had been informed that a patrol was not due for another hour yet. Clearly, their intelligence was wrong, or the guards had simply decided to abscond from the remainder of their shift. Either way, the tavern had suddenly become a lot less appealing.

"Hastings," Will gasped sharply, nudging his arm to gain his attention. "Look. Quickly. Over there."

"Damnations," Hastings finished, his eyes wide in shock. He clearly couldn't believe it either as he also noticed the unwanted guests. "What on earth are they doing here?"

"What does that matter now?" Will shot back, leaping to his feet. "Come on. Hurry."

With that, Will tried to hurry across the room. Hastings followed eagerly, however they could barely make it a step with the throngs of people swinging about wildly, merging in a dense sea of bodies.

It was like trying to wade through quicksand. Will had no control, and even beginning to throw himself forward, it did little good to help him clear the way.

Will simply following Hastings' lead as he burst out the doors desperately, and out the back of the inn and outside. They were greeted only by the sheets of rain that fell, and empty streets.

No one could be seen.

If only he had turned at that moment and stared back into the throng behind him. If only he had paused and watched through the doorway. He would have seen the momentary glint of blond hair as none other than Cosette herself passed by, eyes drawn elsewhere.

Fate was a cruel mistress as it tore them both apart once more, each in their own direction and oblivious to their potential reunion.


	13. Chapter 12

_**Good afternoon everybody! Guess who's back from the dead? ;) Like dear Percy himself I've been a little elusive lately, but here's another update for all you lovely people who messaged me asking for it. I can never stay away too long from Percy and the league... so here I am x Hope you all enjoy! As always, feel free to review, message me or whatever you wish. After all, it is for you all I write this as much as for myself. Till next time...**_

 _ **Thesilentmage x**_

* * *

Madame Juvai's home was far nicer than Cosette had expected. It was a far cry from Blakeney Manor indeed, being but a small townhouse a short walk from the Theatre Des Arts. Yet, compared to the hellish prison she'd been in the past few days it was practically luxury. The moment she'd stepped over the threshold and heard the door shut behind her, locking the world out behind her, she'd finally felt safe.

She lifted her head, unafraid of who might see her and felt the weight tumble free from her shoulders. It was odd to think she did not have to hide here or be afraid, just as she had been since this whole sorry affair started. Instead, she felt oddly at peace as she inhaled the thick haze of incense that hung about the place. Lavender, was it?

Cosette could not be entirely sure as she stood there in the narrow hallway, and tried to take it all in. It was all too much to process, from the vibrant woman removing her coat beside her to the electric decor of the world around her Cosette couldn't help but feel odd and out of place.

There were silks and draperies hanging all over the walls, making the walls feel more like a tent than a home. There were also trinkets aplenty, scattered about the walls and shelves from vases, to statues, to items Cosette wasn't even vaguely familiar with. She had a suspicion they must have been props from the theatre - why else would someone own what appeared to be a turban of some kind and an eyepatch?

Unfortunately, Cosette did not get long to let her eyes wander as Madame Juvai's voice startled her back to the present. "Welcome to my humble abode," she beamed, gesturing behind her as if it were the grandest stage in all Paris. True, it was a perfect backdrop to the woman who Cosette could hardly dissect. "It may not be as grand as Blakeney Manor, but it is my home and you're welcome to make yourself at ease whilst you're here."

"Thank you, truly," Cosette replied earnestly. "Believe me, compared to where I've been staying the past week or so this is a manor."

A coarse laugh burst from Madame Juvai's lips. "Oh, it's a manor house alright. We even have our own staff - or we do when she gets her ass up the stairs." She rolled her eyes, before booming over her shoulder, "Reneé!"

The cry was replied to in turn by the sound of footsteps hurrying toward them. A moment later, Cosette was amazed to see a young girl stood before her, dressed plainly and with an apron attached to her dress.

"My maidservant," Madame Juvai explained casually, all but throwing her coat at the girl who merely caught it and bobbed in greeting. "Reneé has just been taken on at the theatre as my protégée."

"I see," Cosette replied, smiling warmly across at the girl. "It is nice to meet you."

"May I take your coat?" Reneé asked, politely turning her attention to their newest guest. Clearly, she wasn't one for pleasantries. Normally, Cosette would have been grateful for it but right then, it felt too abrupt.

Cosette shook her head immediately. There was an odd defensiveness about her as she clutched at the garment, holding it tightly against her. "No I… I shall hold onto it a little longer if it is alright?"

"As you wish," Juvai nodded, but not without a curious glance at Cosette as she gestured to the rickety wooden stairs behind her. "Let me show you the way to the guest room. I'll have Reneé make it up and fetch you something to clean yourself up with, whilst we find you something to eat. You look positively famished."

The mere mention of food was enough to make Cosette's mouth water and her stomach ache. In all the whirlwind of the past few hours, food had slipped entirely from her mind.

"Thank you," she repeated for what felt like the hundredth time that day. There was no way in her mind to repay the kindness bestowed upon her by this woman, or should she say, guardian angel? Her intervention had been most timely and definitely divine in nature.

Whether or not Madame Juvai agreed was not apparent as she smiled kindly once more, and placed her hand securely against Cosette's lower back. The gesture was explanatory as she delicately guided the girl towards the stairs and into the upper portion of the house.

Wrong be it for Cosette to object, so she complied eagerly, allowing herself to be lead.

Her footsteps creaked mercilessly as followed down the narrow hallway to the room at the end. Clearly, the floorboards were every bit as lively as their mistress. The entire house seemed to be.

"Madame Juvai… forgive my impertinence, but may I ask about my father?" She was unable to help herself from asking as they approached. It was as if suddenly her confidence wavered. "Are you sure this will work?"

"Fear not, my child," Madame Juvai smiled, patting her shoulder placatingly. Every aspect about her was soothing, treating Cosette like a wounded animal. "I shall make some discreet enquiries tonight, and see if can not somehow send word to Mazzerini tonight. He will arrange everything. You and your father shall both be safe and back in England before the week is out I grant you."

Cosette just nodded in relief, choosing to take the words as a promise. She'd come this far after all. It had to work itself out in the end.

With that, she turned to the room. Madame Juvai took that as her cue, slowly closing the door behind her as she left.

* * *

The jubilant optimism Cosette had found that evening had unfortunately not spread itself across to the other half of the city. As darkness had fallen with little to no significant progress being made, so too had the League's moods.

Since the moment they'd returned that evening with no news, it was as if the final spark of hope has vanished. No one could ignore the frustration and despair in their leader's eyes, no matter how well he attempted to conceal it. They all knew Percy Blakeney well enough by this point in their lives to be able to decipher his ever impregnable facades.

Yet again, they fed on his mood. Nobody dared talk too much, or be too jubilant. Instead, it was far easier to focus on menial tasks such as plotting routes on maps, seeing to the modest dinner they had going over the fireplace, and adjusting their sleeping arrangements for the night.

Will, however, was unaccustomed to their ways. Simply pretending he was calm was beyond his abilities at that moment in time, despite his usual composure. How could he act as if all this flitting about was in any way productive?

There was a fire raging inside his soul that was near impossible to extinguish. Staring out the window, gazing out across the dim streets of Paris was all that was able to contain him for the time being… that and thinking, wallowing in memories as he absently toyed with the ring on his pointer finger.

The ring… her ring.

It may have been many years ago, but Will could remember the day Cosette had given it to him as if it were merely yesterday. She had presented it to him as a token for his birthday, with a simple message inscribed along the inside of the band: _'Friendship - a single soul in two bodies'._

How true it had felt, but none more so than now… now when it felt as if half of him was missing somehow. As if, there was a void between them that neither had ever had to face before.

It made him feel closer to her somehow as if pressing the metal against his palm would somehow summon her here like some mystical genie inside a lamp.

As pointless as it was, it was all he had left of her… to hold onto whilst his mind frayed with agitation and concern for his truest friend in the world. To think she was out there somewhere, lost in a swirling fray of life, misery and danger - it was enough to make his heart wrench in agony.

Thankfully, he was pulled from his thoughts before he could plummet too deeply into the pits of despair in which he had been descending. So much so, in fact, his father had been watching with grave concern for the last ten minutes, as if struggling to decide whether to intervene or not.

Still, both were spared the difficulty. A sudden knock startled the men from their posts.

The room fell silent. Everyone froze.

"Do you hear that?" Armaund whispered, eyes wide in surprise. "Does anyone know we are here?"

"They are not supposed to," Tony replied hesitantly, looking unsure what to do in the situation. It was too late to extinguish the candles, and even if they ran now they would not all make it out the numerous exits about the house. Then again, he wasn't the only one who looked ready to try. "Do we answer?"

Only Percy seemed able to move, as he began to edge to the door and down the stairs, in what was clearly a gesture for 'yes'.

All around him, the others reached hastily for their pistols and whatever weapon was nearest to them. They crept after their rather brave -or foolish, it remained to be determined - leader.

"One day Percy will be running after us," Hastings lamented, but he still followed the others regardless into the darkened hall beyond.

Their footsteps were the only sound as they filed down, almost militaristic in their formation. Will, for example, did not miss the way his father subconsciously tucked himself in front of his son as an attempt to be a shield should the need arise. He also did not miss the way everyone held their weapons aloft as if anticipating the moment they would need them rather than if they should.

Then again, he was not exactly surprised by this point. His world view had rapidly increased the past week, and this was the least startling of events, even if it held the potential of being his first in-person encounter with violence.

As one, they held their breath and listened to the creak of the great wooden doors being pried open just below the edge of the stairs upon which they perched.

Moonlight slid through the crack of the doorway, illuminating the troubled planes of Percy's face as he peered out to the stoop beyond. Their visitor was immediately apparent, even if he almost did a double-take as his identity was revealed.

It was a boy. He looked only to be of about ten years old.

As much as he was disinclined to believe the boy was about to ambush him, or his companions, Percy still remained defensive as he slid easily into character. It was so fast, and so flawless that to anybody external to the League would never have noticed it in all its finery.

"Good evening," Percy greeted, in his most polite and chipper tone. "How can we help you, my boy?"

"I have a message, Monsieur," the child piped up eagerly, reaching into the inside of his rather large coat. Due to the sheer amount of holes in it, Percy was somewhat astounded the message had made it here successfully and hadn't ended up in some ditch. As he withdrew his hand, the letter became visible in the dull light of the moon. "From an old friend."

As the envelope hit the light, the seal became visible, as did the pattern it bore. Percy's eyes widened in recognition.

Mazzerini.

"You had best come in, lad, and tell me everything that happened. Every little detail," Percy demanded, pulling the door open wider and ushering the boy into the hall beyond with a newfound sense of eagerness. "It seems we have much to discuss."

* * *

The faint scent of the dinner still lingered in the air, even if mere crumbs remained. Cosette had been utterly and completely famished. It had not been much, but by comparison to her last meal, Cosette considered it a feast. She had almost licked the plate clean in her hunger.

Inside, she was well aware that keeping herself busy with such tasks as eating was merely a way of delaying the inevitable. Now, sealed in this room, with all her thoughts in tow, Cosette could hardly escape them.

For example, she had failed to remember the blood that crusted her hands and the side of her dress. The coat had hidden it well, but now it all but burned into Cosette's vision as she held the empty plate.

Thankfully her host had been considerate, having Reneé deliver a wash bowl and nightgown along with her supper. The water was still warm, the bowl having been left beside the fire burning in the grate.

If only the water could wash away the questions in her mind as easily as it did the physical reminders of the day.

This was new for her, in every way. She had been afraid. She had been kidnapped, interrogated, tortured even… but she'd escaped. She had even killed. How was she supposed to process this? How was she supposed to make peace with that? Was it even possible?

What man did this make her father then? He was a man who belonged in this world. He was a man who sought danger, who had escaped death again and again. He was also a man who had killed… whether in defence or not… Cosette's heart raced erratically, as she blinked back tears. What kind of person did this make her?

A grateful sigh escaped her lips as she plunged her hands into the bowl, and watched as tendrils of red seeped from her into the swirling water. Frantically she began scrubbing, till she could at least pretend she was clear.

Inside, she knew the truth of her freedom. The truth was, that it was not only the cost of lives that devastated her. It was the altering of a soul with it—the realisation that she could perhaps go back home to England, perhaps see some semblance of peace achieved and her life rebuilt … but this battle, this game … she would be forever changed. She was no longer the girl that had left Blakeney Manor, but someone new and it terrified her.

Her trembling hands were a testament to that as she re-tied the braid she had worn her hair in the past week. It was a soothing process, one that was all Cosette had to anchor herself to the person she knew she could be… who she would be when she returned. She couldn't give up hope on that, no matter the circumstances.

Cosette turned her head, reaching for the bottle of whiskey she had seen stashed on one of the many shelves in the room. Her hands hastily pulled it down, uncorking it and placing it beside the soiled bowl of water.

With as much care as she could manage, she proceeded to tip the alcohol onto the rag. Her hiss was too loud for her liking as she pressed the cloth to her wounds, wiping the blood and grime as best she could.

It was a crude job at best, but the only one she was able to complete given the circumstances. Madame Juvai may have been a godsend, but something in Cosette rejected the urge to expose the extent of her vulnerabilities to the woman. A few bruises and scrapes were the extent of her external injuries. Those she could deal with. The internal ones? Well, Cosette refused to address those demons until she had at least had some sleep.

Silently she set to finishing her work. As she peeled off her dress her breath hitched.

It was like a painting, swirls of purple, yellow and black splurged across her body in sickeningly vibrant explosions of colour. Fumier would have been proud of the masterpiece he had created on her body, turning it into his own twisted canvas.

She was going to kill that man. One day. But not that day, and probably not the day after either. Instead, for now, she had other priorities that required her attention like finding her father and making it out of Paris in one piece.

For that reason, she swallowed her rage. She slid on the nightgown and crawled her way into the awaiting bed. All she wanted at that moment, more than anything else in the world, was to sleep and sleep she would.

Tomorrow and all its trouble could wait a little while longer.

* * *

The door of the safe house clicked shut as Andrew drew the bolts back into place. He didn't even need to ask to read exactly what kind of mood Percy was in that moment. He'd heard well enough exactly what the boy had had to say.

Together, they had escorted their surprise guest inside the hallway, and to the room beside it. There, in the gloom, they had heard exactly what the boy had to say, as well as what was contained within the pages of the note he had delivered.

The seal alone had brought hope to Percy's heart as he had snapped the familiar wax seal. However, as he held it up to the milky glow of the moonlight from the window he knew his instinct had been right. There, in his friend's own hand, was the salvation he had been awaiting since the moment they had arrived in this God forsaken city. Reading it aloud to Andrew, he watched as his friend automatically mirrored his sentiments.

"I saw Monsieur Mazzerini write that note myself." Eagerly, the boy confirmed the message and accepted the tip Andrew hastily bestowed as a result into his dirt stricken hand. "Thank you, Monsieurs'. Thank you kindly," he stammered.

"No, thank you, my boy," Percy cooed graciously. "We should not wish to detain you any further as you must have important business elsewhere."

Whether or not it was true, the boy clearly had what he'd come for. It was most likely why he allowed himself to be escorted back towards the door, and out into the night from which he'd come.

"Good night, sirs," he repeated in farewell. There was an almost roguish grin about him as he nodded and crossed his fingers over his heart. "I never saw you. Cross my heart and hope to die."

"Let us hope it does not come to that," Andrew sighed grimly, but not unkindly as he stood there.

"Indeed not."

Percy stood beside him, and together they watched as the boy fled back into the inky darkness.

It was for a few moments longer they waited, listening to the silence left behind. Sure enough, they deemed themselves safe for the time being. More than that, they had also been handed a very lucky, and unlikely hand. Far be it for Percy to waste even a moment longer.

So, they returned hastily to the stairs, and to the awaiting men loitering in the shadows on them. Crouched in the darkness, armed as they were, they looked as if they had been expecting an imminent ambush from the ten-year-old. Seemed old habits died hard.

"Coast clear, gentlemen" Percy declared, bounding toward them jubilantly. There was something in his swagger as he leant against the bannister than told the men that something wonderful had indeed occurred. "Be at ease."

Together, they sighed a collective sigh of relief.

"Well then, who was it?" Hastings asked impatiently, standing up and dusting himself off.

"Dear Timothy, let us retire back up to the warmth of the rooms upstairs where I shall tell all. None of us wishes to remain in this draughty corridor a moment longer than necessary." Yet again, Percy's jubilant tone rang true through the darkened corridor, filling it with a sudden and very welcome light. "You all looked demned uncomfortable crouching down like that."

The sheer surety in their leader's sudden resurgence made the tension dissipate for a moment. Long enough, for them all to stand again and chuckle at his mock disapproval.

They were well and truly hanging on his every word, even as they hurried back up the stairs towards the smell of their awaiting dinner. Then again, no man's mind was on something so menial as food when there was clearly news to be heard. Newsworthy of restoring Sir Percy Blakeney back to his true theatrical self.

Tony looked practically ready to explode as they filed into the room, swirling around their leader like eager dogs. "Well, good god man. Speak. What did he say?"

"Well, my dear Tony," Percy sighed, but the smile never left his face. In fact, it grew as he dropped leisurely back into the armchair behind him, and lifted his feet onto the stool before him as if he were back at his club in London. "That boy at the door happened to be one of Mazzerini's numerous networks. He came with news."

"News?" Armaund breathed, looking thoroughly confused as to what news Mazzerini could possibly have for them - or how he even knew they were back in the city. "What on earth did he say?"

"That apparently Madame Juvai has located Cosette, and at this moment has taken her to her house-"

"Madame Juvai!" exclaimed Tony, leaping from his seat. The look of bewilderment seemed unanimous throughout the room at that moment. It sounded almost too good to possibly be true. "How can this be?"

"Who is Madame Juvai?" Will piped up curiously.

"She is an old friend, Will," Percy explained, "and I trust she will take care of Cosette. We must just thank god it was she Cosette found."

"Then shouldn't we pay this Madame Juvai a visit?"

"No."

"No?" Hastings choked. "But, Percy?"

"The boy," Percy explained, soothing the agitated mob that faced him, "said that we should not call. Juvai is smart and does not wish to draw any attention, or endanger Cosette - hence her use of a messenger. She knew Mazzerini would find us, and tell us."

"So Cosette is safe?" Will chimed eagerly. "What happened? Did she escape? Did Chauvelin let her go?"

"For now let us focus on the fact that she is safe," Andrew nodded. The sigh of relief was unanimous. "Answers can come later. We have also been invited to a party tomorrow night, which Juvai and Cosette are also to attend."

"She feels, quite wisely, that the greatest place to hide is in plain sight. She does not wish to risk us, or Cosette being recognised if we were to try anything during the day. As such, we are to unite in the safety of the crowd tomorrow night. That is where we should make our move."

Hastings paused, not looking entirely convinced. "Where is this party? Is it safe to attend?"

"I should think so," Andrew nodded again, "considering it is being held at Mazzerini's place."

"She wants to meet us there?"

"Indeed. Her plan had been to ask him to aid in leaving the city. She feels he could help us whilst we're there."

"And we need his help, why?" Tony asked curiously. "Chauvelin may have friends in the city but he is surely not exactly a threat against all of us."

"Very true, Tony," Percy sighed, "if it were only Chauvelin then I'd wholeheartedly agree. I would go and take her from Juvai's right this instant, and we'd all be on a boat home."

"Then why didn't you?" Armaund piped up hesitantly.

"Because Chauvelin is working for Fouché."

The silence that filled the room was deafening.

"How…" began Hastings, stammering with his inability to find the words to express his confusion. "How do you know that? Fouché was dismissed last year, and he and Chauvelin do not even know each other."

"One of Mazzerini's spies saw Chauvelin at the Ministry of Police a mere day ago. Apparently, he was spotted conversing with our old friend, Fouché."

"I… I can not believe it."

"Well, you'd best alter that perspective ma dear chap," Percy sighed, "and fast."

"But alone both men were wicked enough… for them to combine forces…"

It was grim news indeed. Nonetheless, it was still news, and such that Percy relished it with a new fire in his eyes. The Pimpernel had a new challenge it seemed, and one that was set to be his greatest and most difficult yet.

The feeling was mutual as all men took their turn at reading the mysterious note that had been delivered as if by the hand of God himself.

They all stared at the writing on the parchment. It was there for all to see.

All the men in the room smiled with relief to, at last, have a plan forming. Particularly as it meant Percy looked slightly more himself once again. He was already giving out orders, all of which they were happy to receive after the long silence of the day.

Maybe, just maybe, this mission would still be a success after all…


	14. Chapter 13

_**Here we are, everybody. A massive thank you - as always - to everybody who has read this, reviewed it or sent me a message. It means the world to me. And an even bigger thank you goes to Phantom Actress who inspired me to get this chapter out sooner. Your support meant a lot ;) and I hope you continue to enjoy this!**_

 _ **Thesilentmage x**_

* * *

Madame Juvai sighed.

It was colder this early morning than she had expected. The heat of the summer Parisian streets had evaporated with the sunlight, being lost in a slightly cooler breeze that swept off the Seine. Despite the season, she shivered in the dwindling darkness. The side streets of Paris weren't a pretty place for many – but it was home.

Juvai clawed at the woollen shawl around her bare shoulders. Her head bent against the wind.

The only light visible came from the building ahead at the end of the street. Luckily for her, this was her destination. This was the reason she had snuck out of her house before sunrise like some common thief... This was what she had become now, the depths she had been forced to sink to.

She hurried on to the doorway ahead.

Just beyond the open door lay an all too familiar corridor, long and grim. Normally, she would have had the sense to turn away rather than risk entering such a place alone. Still, this place held no threat to her and it wasn't as if she hadn't spent enough time on these streets to know how to handle herself.

In the Paris of the republic, only the strong survived.

Juvai sighed, stepping over the threshold and pausing by a looking glass that hung on the side. There was little point really considering why she was here but she hastily straightened her hair as best she could, running her fingers through her long fiery hair. She also tossed her shawl on to the peg by her.

Tired. She looked tired. Well, her eyes did - far more so than they should for someone of her age.

Juvai paused, reaching in her skirt pocket and pulling out a thin piece of paper. On it in neat handwriting sat the words – M. Chauvelin. Beneath was this address, hence why she was here.

Of course, the bastard would pick a hell hole like this for a meeting. Still, she did as she was instructed. There was no point in questioning the man's methods as she proceeded through the hallway and into the room beyond. She didn't flinch. She was used to these sights. This was her Paris, with all its glory - the levels she had been reduced to.

Men and women laughed drunk on the tavern floor. The nooks and crannies were dark and damp. She continued on to the back of the room where she paused.

Glancing once each way, she then reached up to clasp a yellow bell-rope which hung down limply. A bell sounded somewhere distant.

A moment passed until the wall moved to reveal a passageway. Anyone else would have been stunned to see such a sight. yet, Juvai once again didn't even flinch. Not even as she made eye contact with the tall gentleman stood inside. Unlike many of the people around here, he was wearing an obviously tailored silk shirt and suit.

Despite his slimy nature Fumier did always like to pretend he was a cut above his station. "Yes?" he drawled, even though he knew very well who she was by now and why she was here.

It was why Madame Juvai waited. She didn't say a word, choosing instead to thrust the card into his hands with a scoff.

He read it. "This way," he sniped, beckoning her to follow.

So she did. Hitching up her skirts, she disappeared, following Fumier as they proceeded together up to a spiral staircase. Even in the dark, she knew where it led as, a moment later, they came to a halt outside a door.

Madame Juvai knocked.

To her amazement, the door opened to reveal a large room. It was heavily furnished. Heavy tapestries hung from the walls; a fire stood in the grate, and two armchairs sat by the fire too.

With a sigh, she smiled at the warmth of the room. But to her dismay, it was gloomy inside – illuminated only by the few candles that hung on either side. As expected, a man stood bathed in the shadows. In his hand stood a glass of sherry. She couldn't make out his features, only his silhouette. She paused a moment before he turned toward her.

"Ah, Juvai. I thought you weren't coming," he barked with an air of almost arrogance which made her skin crawl.

Madam Juvai glared indignantly at the gentleman before her with something of contempt. She had never been one for charity or even for help. This man was everything she wasn't, rich, had a degree of respect, and he didn't have to hide or grovel to live one day at a time.

Then again no one understood that. Not even her. Why were some people rich and happy and others living like herself? If there really was a god up there, like the one she'd been told about, why did he not care or help people like her? It was life and she was stuck in it. She turned back to him slowly choosing her words carefully.

"I was been held up. But I'm here now," she began, watching as the door was closed behind her. Thankfully, she heard the footsteps that confirmed that Fumier wasn't loitering outside the door eavesdropping as he headed back down the hallway.

"Next time you will not be late," Chauvelin snapped, regaining her attention back to the matter at hand. The only thing that mattered now lay inside this room. Perhaps it was that realisation or the darkened expression on Chauvelin's face that made her gut churn nervously.

She shivered as suddenly the air began to freeze around her. His face had changed dramatically. Like someone had twisted it into a hard, angry glare. She recoiled as if he had hit her.

The man had always unsettled her. Ever since she'd first laid eyes on him she had felt nothing but disdain and discomfort around him. What was worse was that she knew he could sense it, as if somehow he fed off the fear he created in her.

Maybe that was why he was smirking lightly in her direction. Juvai nodded apologetically at him, grateful to see him relax a little. Perhaps he wouldn't kill her just yet… not until she'd told him what she'd come here to say. After all, he may have been a repugnant man but he was intelligent. He knew better than to pass up on an opportunity like this one when it benefitted both of them as much as it did.

"Good morning to you too, sourpuss," Juvai greeted sharply, marching her way into the room. "Careful, else I'd think you weren't happy to see me."

"That depends on what you have for me, Juvai," Chauvelin replied glibly.

There was something satisfying to see the man so miserable and reduced to the nervous being before her. Chauvelin was a mere fraction of the man she remembered from her days at the theatre, watching as he skulked about the wings, hanging around Marguerite like a lovesick puppy.

Any prestige, or self-respect, the man had had no longer existed. It was enough to make this victory over him all the sweeter. The money was merely a side benefit.

"I hear you're in a spot of bother Chauvelin. Tut tut." Oh, how she used to tease the man. Seeing him grovel had always been amusing, and apparently, that hadn't changed. She watched victoriously as he snarled, clenching his fists behind the table as he paced. "Lost something have we?"

"Perhaps."

"Good thing I've come to help you," she continued, sauntering ever closer.

"My investor is not pleased," he explained sharply. It was as if he were keeping himself on a leash. Juvai could see the fury brimming beneath the surface of his body, waiting to be let out. "I need to reclaim the girl fast, especially if we are to secure her father."

"I bet he's not happy," Juvai teased. She was unable to help herself. "Monsieur Fouché is not a man to be trifled with."

"Exactly, so you better have come here with some damned results!" Chauvelin bellowed. The thunderous echo of his fists slamming on to the desk was enough to remove any colour left from Juvai's cheeks. "We can not risk him catching word of her escape. The Pimpernel is slippery enough a target without removing our bait from the hook."

"Which is why it is fortuitous that I come bearing good news."

"You do?"

The change in his demeanour was immediate. There was the look she had been waiting for eagerly since the moment Cosette Blakeney had staggered into her life. "Indeed," Juvai boasted, loving the look of scepticism on Chauvelin's face. He was like a puppy eyeing a fresh juicy bone, being dangled back and forth teasingly. "But before I share such news I want assurance we have a deal."

"A deal?"

"Why do you think I keep coming back to you?" Juvai snapped, crossing her arms over her chest. Her expression said all as she stared at the man with an odd mixture of disapproval and superiority. "My eyes and ears in this city are all you have left, Chauvelin. No fancy committee behind you anymore. You need me - and I've helped time and time again. So, I've earned my usual fee."

"You think I need you?"

"Yes!"

" _You_ think that _I_ need you?" Chauvelin growled, fists clenching at his sides. "My name still inspires fear. I may not have my position but people remember me - fear me for the bloodshed I caused. It's why the committee and the poncy emperor tolerate me," he snarled. "They know my reputation proceeds me - I know all of Robespierre's secrets. I'm an asset, and you'd do well to remember that too. I deserve respect!"

Madame Juvai snarled back, flinching at his tone. "And screaming like a petulant child will never earn you that. You and I have a mutual understanding, and a need for each other's services. Nothing more."

"That remains to be seen," Chauvelin murmured darkly before finally recomposing himself. He sighed, running a hand through his greying hair as he dropped back into the worn leather chair behind him. Anger wasn't going to get him anyway with this woman. He knew that from experience. She was a woman whose temper matched her fiery red hair. "What news do you bring?"

"I have the girl."

He blinked.

That had not been what he'd been expecting.

"You do?"

"Yes," Juvai repeated, smugly stepping ever so slightly closer so that she could feel the way he had to lean back to look up at her victorious expression. "She is at my residence at this very moment. I have also orchestrated a meeting with the Pimpernel to lure him out of hiding."

If she was expecting praise then she was sorely disappointed by the blunt manner in which Chauvelin barked, "When is this meeting to be?"

"Tonight. At a party at Mazzerini's house. It's his birthday and I said a crowd would be a suitable hiding place for such a transaction as this."

"You may be right. Such an event could work in our favour," he murmured as if muddling the possibility over for himself. If Juvai didn't know better, she would have sworn she could see the cogs of his mind turning inside his head. For a plain looking man, he was anything but on the inside. "It may give us more than we originally bargained for."

"And how are you planning to do that?"

"Easily enough," Chauvelin smirked. "Fouché still has contacts back in the ministry. He will tell them a rumour that English spies are in Paris and at the party and all of France will bear down upon them, flushing them out to me. Besides, might get lucky… who knows, they might even take a few of his foolish friends down for me."

"They're not fools," Juvai stated simply. "We both know that."

"Everyone is a fool when people they cherish are involved," Chauvelin spat, swiping his glass before tossing back the last of the bitter substance inside. He then turned to pour himself another one. "Human compassion. Man's greatest weakness."

"And here I thought that was money."

"No. That's your greatest weakness, Madame Juvai," he scoffed, reaching into the desk and removing what appeared to be a scrap of paper. "A handful of coins and you would sell your own sister."

"True."

"Here," Chauvelin snapped, thrusting it towards her. "This has the seal of Ministry on it. This ensures you'll be paid for your services, once I have the Pimpernel in custody."

Needless to say at the mere mention of payment, Juvai snatched the paper for herself and held it close to her chest. "God bless you, monsieur," she purred, curtseying low.

"Once the Pimpernel is in custody then Monsieur Fouché will add his final signature to the document. Then, _and only_ then, will you receive the reward."

"Of course."

With a wicked smile, Juvai curtseyed and hurried back into the early morning from whence she came.

* * *

Nervous was definitely an understatement where Cosette was concerned. Her hands trembled, uncontrollable as she attempted to pin up the blonde mess that was her hair. She had found that with a decent brush and bowl of water she could pretend to look presentable; which was not the easiest thing to do after hours without a decent wash or comb. It was almost therapeutic twisting her hair into a familiar look.

She hadn't slept, which was to be expected, despite the fact it was the first night she had spent in a real bed in over a week. When she had managed to drift into a slumber, she had woken mere moments later, gasping and shaking as nightmares hounded her. It was no use. She had twisted and turned throughout the morning.

Sighing, she rose from the bed and slid onto the stool nearest the fire, which was now nothing but embers and ash. Thankfully, the summer sunshine streaming in through the window provided warmth enough that she did not truly mind the fire's absence.

Her nerves had her on edge. A curse escaped her lips as she struggled to pin an elusive slip of hair. It dropped back onto her face almost mocking her as she tried to fix her bedraggled appearance.

All day she had practically been alone up in her room. Of course, she realised her host most probably assumed her guest would have been sleeping. It was what any normal person running on a mere handful of hours sleep would have done. Unfortunately, Cosette was no normal person.

Again, any normal person would have found it oddly liberating, wearing a nightgown during the middle of the day with nowhere to be and no one to see. Yet, it was driving Cosette stir crazy. More waiting. Apparently, it was a talent she had yet to perfect.

It was taking all her restraint to prevent herself from venturing back downstairs. As it was she had heard someone coming and going, with the door slamming shut and opening again and again. Yet, the thought of wandering through a stranger's home left her with an odd sense of trepidation… even if there was curiosity beneath it. She could hardly be blamed for that - after all, Madame Juvai was a rather intriguing character. Who knew what mysteries her home held?

No. She couldn't breach her privacy like that… However, as soon as she'd made that decision fate once more intervened. A soft gargle from her stomach made the decision for her, as she rose and headed out the room and into the landing beyond.

Apparently, Cosette's need for food was greater than her need for seclusion.

To her astonishment though, as she opened the door, she was greeted by the realisation that the house was practically silent.

Perhaps everyone was downstairs in the servant quarters, or so Cosette immediately concluded as she padded her way down the narrow hallway and to the top of the rickety wooden staircase. She was unused to the workings of a house such as this, and the lack of people felt unusual.

Surely somebody had to be about at this hour? Noontime was usually one of the busiest back home at Blakeney, with both the kitchen and domestic staff occupied with their duties. Yet, no matter where she looked, Cosette was unable to detect hide nor hair of anyone else in the house. She couldn't hear a peep save for the faint echo of people passing on the busy street outside.

"So much for that plan," she whispered under her breath.

So, she had been wrong last night after all. She was still just as alone as she had been before, trapped inside yet another set of walls. At least these walls were for her own safety.

Cosette sighed as she made her way down the stairs.

She was about to call out when she tripped. It was only a minor stumble, as her weary body failed to notice the coat stand that proudly resided in the hall.

"Damnation." Cosette cursed, bending down to gather the articles that had fallen in the wake of her destruction. Several coats, scarves and hats were replaced back onto the hooks with as much care, and haste, as she could manage.

This was just what she needed. Had anybody finally made an appearance and rounded the corner of the hall they'd have thought her ridiculous on her hands and knees like this, scrambling about with her hands full of scarves and a coat.

Placing them carefully back on the rack, she turned and knelt to gather the last item. She lowered to grab the leather bag she had knocked from the peg and onto the floor. As it had fallen it had opened and spilt its contents about. She reached to also gather the numerous trinkets that had tumbled from the bag.

There was nothing out of the ordinary about the items she hastily returned to their previous home inside the bag. However, it was only as she was about to seal the brass buckle that she noticed something interesting.

To the immediate eye, it appeared nothing more than a typical sealed document. She grabbed it and pulled it out. Turning it over in the light, her heart stopped beating as she noticed the seal. She knew that symbol better than anyone.

The seal of the French Ministry of Police.

A gasp filled the hall as, with trembling hands, Cosette went to open the letter. Yet, as if knowing exactly what she was about to do, the sound of footsteps on the servants' stairs filled the air. The warning was clear.

Roughly shoving the envelope in her coat pocket, Cosette knew she'd seen enough. Her body flew back up the stairs without another word. She didn't stop until she was back in the security of her room, door bolted shut behind her.

What did this even mean? There had to be some logical explanation, or so Cosette tried to reason as her mind spiralled out of control. If this meant what she knew it did, then she was now in even more danger than before.

Still, she had to be sure. Part of her mind prayed she was merely relying on some paranoid fear. So, she hurried towards the vanity and swiped up a rather lethal looking hairpin.

It was with great care she slid the pin beneath the seal, prying it open to look inside. To her horror, the contents were worse than what she had feared, the fine cursive hand almost mocking in its tone.

 _The recipient of this document: Madame Eloise Juvai, is to be awarded 5000 francs for services rendered to France, regarding national interests._

Then there was a single signature.

 _M. Chauvelin._

However, there was still an empty slot beside it. Fouché? It had to be, but why had he not signed yet? What services had Madame Java provided? Why did Cosette have a horrible feeling that they had to do with her? What else could they have been?

Bitter tears flooded Cosette's eyes as she fought the sting of betrayal. Of course. This had all appeared to be too good to be true. It had been so convenient, and she so desperate, that she had hardly seen it coming. What a fool!

The real question was, what did she do next? Did she stay? Try to figure out what was happening? Did she leave? Could she leave? Did she go to the party alone?

No. She knew that would be pointless. Madame Juvai had made the plans for her. Her father would be at that party, and currently, she had no idea where he was residing. Like it or not, the party was her only - and her best - opportunity to find him. Whether or not Madame Juvai had done anything or not to hijack it, Cosette had very little choice.

She had to keep her enemies close. That meant acting as if nothing was amiss. Only then did she even stand a chance of figuring out what her host had in store.

Tears stung behind her eyes as Cosette made her plan and folded the paper back into its original shape. She then held the seal above the flickering flame for a few minutes and was rewarded as the wax softened enough for her to reseal the envelope closed again. It was as if nothing had ever happened to it, or so Cosette thought hastily.

She replaced the letter back downstairs in the hallway and ran, hurrying back to her room as if nothing had changed.

* * *

If Cosette had been on edge before, then her unfortunate discovery downstairs had frayed whatever nerves she had left. Whatever composure she had reclaimed evaporated into the morning light that now filled the room.

The morning had bled into the afternoon as she sat there, staring out of the bedroom window. Her eyes had almost turned glassy as she sat on the bay window seat, staring out at the mingling throngs of people that passed by outside… each as unaware as the next of what was happening in the streets around them. Of the spies, games and danger that were unfolding all around them with each and every minute.

How many of them were wearing masks of their own? Living alternative lives that those they held dearest were oblivious to? The thought was enough to make her head spin even more.

So much so, Cosette didn't register the time passing. In fact, she was only roused from her stupor as a sudden creak filled the air, followed by a cool breeze filtering into the room.

Cosette turned in surprise.

She was greeted by the sudden sight of the now open bedroom door, and the figure that it revealed in its threshold.

"Glorious day out there." The sudden chipper tone made one thing immediately clear. Madame Juvai really was a consummate actress. Cosette could understand the woman's success over the years when she seemed able to switch in and out of different characters at the mere drop of a hat. "Sorry. I've been out in the garden all day and seeing to some people. I had some last minute business to attend to."

"That's alright," Cosette replied sweetly, doing her best to replicate the woman's cheerful demeanour. She knew exactly what that so-called business was. "I hardly noticed with so comfortable a bed. I think I could have slept for a week."

Madame Juvai laughed lightly striding across the room. She removed her jacket and tossed it on to the stool beside her. "I'm glad to hear it. I've been preparing for tonight. Besides, I sent word to your father last night."

"You did?" Cosette burst, leaping to her feet. All attempts at suppressing both her disbelief and alarm failed miserably. "What? When? Why did you not say?"

Madame Juvai shook her head as if enjoying watching the girl scramble for the bait she had dangled in front of her. "I did not wish to wake you, my child. You looked as if you could use some rest. Besides, we both agreed our plan was safer than you fleeing into the night with them. I have hardly had time to breathe since then. It is not easy to arrange something like this, my child. I tell you. Honestly, even getting the maid to agree to speak to messenger took most of my strength."

"Really?"

"Indeed," came her whisper.

Cosette raised an eyebrow but said little more on the matter. What was she keeping from her? She shook her head and cast a wary eye at her. "Well, thank you - for everything."

"You're welcome. You mustn't worry yourself. You shall be on your way back to England in no time."

Cosette nodded.

She was close to snapping.

She couldn't wait.

Madame Juvai took her hands and the two of them looked at each other happily. "Come, I need to find you something to wear."

"Wear?" she muttered. Clothes were the very last thing on her mind at that moment. However, Madame Juvai seemed to have her priorities elsewhere.

"You can't go to a party in that," she laughed as if it should have been obvious to the English Heiress. Apparently, she had left her sense of decorum and frivolity back in the cell. "You'll stick out like a sore thumb in those rags, especially considering the crowd, which won't do for a covert operation such as this."

She had a point. That was the only reason Cosette didn't protest, instead choosing to stare at the dirt covered, ripped skirts of her brown dress that was draped over the back of the mirror. Indeed, she couldn't wear that any longer. Her father would practically swoon at the sight of such a garment. Still, Cosette watched, intrigued as Madame Juvai turned authoritatively toward the wardrobe in the corner of the room. Despite its modest size, as she opened the door Cosette was impressed to see how many garments had been compressed inside.

"Now, we need something that will fit you and your petite frame," Juvai began, before turning around again in the blink of an eye. In either hand, she held aloft a different gown, both of different cuts and colours.

Had this been back in England, Cosette would have almost relished in the chance to do something as normal as dress and discuss garments, as she did often with Amelia. Yet, this wasn't England, and her companion was of a far less trustworthy nature. No matter how hard she tried, Cosette couldn't un-see the letter she'd found. Nor could she quell the uneasy tension that rippled beneath her skin.

Still, she was a Blakeney. It took more than this to rile her. Feigned interest and civility were almost second nature to her, something she could slip on and off easier than any gown.

Speaking of which, both of Madame Juvai's possible choices made Cosette's cheeks redden ever so slightly. The sheer cuts and bright colours were a far cry from her usual gowns back home. Still, both looked far better than her current attire. Apparently, she would have to add confidence to this charade.

"That one is rather beautiful," Cosette hesitantly nodded, pointing to her eventual choice. She then watched as it was draped over the edge of the bed frame for her to change into later.

Juvai didn't seem to be quite finished with her just yet though. "I do have something to go with it somewhere," Juvai muttered fumbling in the trunk beside her. "You can thank the theatre for providing such wondrous costumes. It makes it a blessing to borrow them from time to time for the odd occasion."

Cosette smiled at Madame Juvai and threw herself into the party. It was trivial, but she needed something to keep her focused. Despite Juvai not being Amelia, the woman clearly had experience assisting others to dress at the theatre. So, a little while later Cosette was dressed and was gazing into a slightly grubby and cracked looking glass.

She wore a deep red dress, with a low cut square neck. It had small golden stitching along the waist and had sleeves that went down to her wrists - which was her main reason in choosing it.

"What do you think?" she enquired.

"You look magnificent my child," she breathed back at her. Her hand gently interwove itself into her blonde tendrils, holding them aloft at the back of her head. "You remind me of your mother to be honest… all her beauty."

She watched as Juvai interwove her hair into a far more ornate style. Yet there was something threatening in the vice-like grip she held on her hair. The way her fingers wove through the strands resembled snakes more than limbs.

It made her shiver.

Cosette smiled falsely, feeling slightly sickened by this woman. How could she betray her like this? Cosette needed help and yet she had been running to the very men who hunted her.

Why?

More importantly, what did she do now?


	15. Chapter 14

**_Good afternoon. Anybody else melting in this heatwave? Dear god, it's hot - even over here in England. I hope you're all finding ways to stay cool. It's why I'm hiding indoors posting this for all you lovely people. Hopefully, a new chapter will also help distract you from the hellish heat for a while ;) Thanks again for reading this and reviewing. I'd love to hear from you as it honestly makes my day x_**

 ** _Thesilentmage x_**

* * *

On the banks of the Seine, past the great Notre-Dame, a community of artistry had established itself in a section of the city known as the Palais-Royal. The district was renowned for its artist inhabitants, and their libertarian lifestyle. In her wildest dreams, Cosette had never imagined she'd be stepping foot in such a place, let alone to attend a party at one of its most well-known tenants. If Almack's could see her now…

As they approached the door of the residence no butlers or footmen greeted them or offered to take their shawls. Instead, the door to the house was thrown wide open to everyone passing in the street. The sheer number of people pouring in and out of the building made it feel as if everyone passing was indeed, headed inside.

Cosette blinked at the sheer informality of it all, made only clearer as she glanced at the open windows, spying a mere glimpse at the world inside. The fact a rather drunken looking woman bellowed out the top floor window, "Hello" at her seemed oddly in keeping.

Whatever Cosette had prepared for, this was not it.

Still, a smile settled into place as she and her companion made their way to the entryway, easing through the crowds. Madame Juvai hardly gave them a second glance, save for the occasional familiar face who she would cheer and wave at enthusiastically. It was liberating.

"This way, my dear," she cooed, gesturing into the grand hallway beyond. Cosette followed without another word.

The house was impressive, with many floors, expanding upwards taking the party and the crowds with it. Cosette hardly knew where to start, making her way up the stairs and proceeding into the first floor.

The room was far more crowded than Cosette could have imagined, with people condensely packed into the suite. All through the rooms, people ranged from dancing to singing to lying on the numerous cushions and chaise lounges that were dotted about. That, in addition to the numerous candles that encased the room it was as if Cosette had entered some surreal dream. Singing, and swirling gowns of wondrous colours painted a picture almost Baroque in nature.

If she had felt self-conscious before, Cosette felt practically alien standing in the midst of it all, gazing wide-eyed at the spectacle. So, this was the kind of party her father had attended in her youth? Cosette really did not know her father as well as she had thought after all. It was a world away from the world of splendour she knew back in English society. It was yet another shocking discovery, one of many, even if she could understand the appeal. It far more resembled her parents' numerous intimate gatherings, than any large formal social event.

There were no apparent rules. No ingrained sense of decorum. The crowds were as wild and free as the country they now supposedly lived in, a mere blur of artistic wonderment and liberation.

"I will see if I can not find the host," Madame Juvai purred, reminding Cosette of the true reason for their being here. She tensed as Juvai patted her hand and pointed her towards the doorway ahead. "You see if you can locate your father. I'll be back shortly."

The mention of her father was enough to remind Cosette of her true purpose. As distracting as their venue seemed to be, they could ill afford such distractions. Not when she was so close… finally…

Politely Cosette nodded in agreement. Madame Juvai took that as her signal and turned in a blur of silk into the fray of the party around them.

The moment she left her sight Cosette's heart lightened. She exhaled a breath she didn't realise she'd even been holding and tried to gather herself together. Finally, she was alone and free. All she had to do was find her father as fast as possible, and get out of the party before Juvai had a chance to finish whatever she was clearly planning.

All day the thought had been clanging around her mind like a warning bell. If only a solution to this problem could have presented itself in so blunt a manner. Instead, she was now left standing there without a clue what to do or which way to turn. Finding someone was much easier in speech than in practice. Where was she even supposed to start?

"Once more unto the fray," Cosette murmured. Picking up her skirts in one hand, she eased her way into the throng that occupied the hallway and the rooms beyond.

The house itself was not that large, but the sheer volume of people inside was as if the place was the Louvre itself, all spread across the multiple floors of the building. Even the party echoed a sense of finery, despite the humble decor. Glasses of champagne were obvious, scattered throughout the room. The apparel of the guests also, despite being far humbler than that of the English Court, was of exquisite taste. If anything, she felt suddenly self-conscious of her borrowed gown and jewellery. Thankfully, no one seemed to be paying her enough attention to care that they were part of a discarded theatre costume.

Or so she thought. Apparently, someone had been paying attention after all as she felt a sudden tap on her shoulder.

"Drink, mademoiselle?" a soft voice purred from behind her.

As she turned, Cosette was greeted by the sight of a rugged young gentleman - or at least he seemed like a gentleman. He was standing with a rather large bottle of what seemed to be brandy in his hand. The fact he was dressed in only his trousers and a billowing white shirt at such a social function made Cosette feel as if her heart had stopped.

Such impropriety would have made her mother swoon… or would it? Cosette hardly knew anymore. Not when this was the true world from which she was descended.

"I… no, thank you," Cosette smoothly replied, sending the man a warm smile. As tempting as liquid courage was right then, she needed her wits about her tonight.

The man simply nodded back, before staggering off to the next girl he could see. There were plenty available, waiting eagerly near the edge of the makeshift dance hall that had been erected in the centre of the central room. All furniture had been pushed back, cleared for the festivities that were currently in full swing.

Cosette had half a mind to join it. To her amazement there didn't seem to be any set dance or movements: merely couples spinning and galloping to the hasty tune the band were playing.

It was wondrous, and as if sensing her change in mood, a rather charming guest appeared at her side. Dressed in a fine navy blue waistcoat and overcoat, the gentleman appeared to be no older than she. However, the confidence in his smile made him seem far more experienced with this type of climate.

"A dance, mademoiselle?"

She took his hand and smiled kindly as he lead her into the throngs of people twirling around.

Cosette would have found it thrilling on any other night, as she danced about, being spun and held by the stranger. Yet, her heart was elsewhere, as was her focus. As she galloped around the room her eyes scanned the crowds, searching helplessly for their faces. It was easier said than done considering there seemed to be more people in that room alone than there was at the entirety of His Majesty's summer gala.

She persisted, craning her neck as she was spun again, twisting around the floor in time to the makeshift orchestra. Her eyes widened. The room froze around her as she clapped her eyes on him: Will. Her Will. He was here?

Her breath stopped as her mind raced in a sudden wave of panic and elation. Was it truly him standing there across the room? Or was this just some figment of her desperate imagination praying for a miracle? After all, how could it be him? Her father would never have permitted him to come to France. Not when it meant he was in just as much danger as they were.

Still, in her heart, she knew the truth. Just from the sight of that heavenly smile, shiny brown waves and muscular physique. He was here.

Her lips parted as if to call his name, but above the ruckus of music and song, Cosette knew it would be hopeless. Instead, she pulled free of her partner, hitched her skirts into her hand and all but ploughed into the swaying mass of people, hurrying until she had laid her hand on his arm.

The contact was as if she had struck him with a lightning bolt, the way he turned sharply and seemed to sag with visible relief at realising it was her standing before him.

"Cosette?" he choked. Had he a drink in his hand Cosette knew it would have been all over her as he struggled to process what was happening. As it was his eyes had widened and his breathing had almost stopped. "I… Is it really you?"

He'd taken the words right out of her mouth.

"Will," she all but stammered back, emotion dripping from every syllable as she struggled to restrain herself from throwing herself at him and never letting him go. As it was her hand gripped his so tightly she was sure her knuckles had but turned white from the strain. "What on earth are you doing here?"

"Looking for you," he stated blankly.

"I should have guessed you'd have got mixed up in this somehow. I don't even care though. I'm just glad to see you."

"And I, you," he replied earnestly, consumed entirely by the woman trembling in front of him. For once, he appeared at a loss for words. Well, as her mother had always said, when words failed actions triumphed. They certainly did in this instance, as Cosette couldn't contain herself any longer.

Cosette threw her arms around him, and Will held her close without hesitation. All that mattered to her in that exact moment was the feeling of sheer comfort and overwhelming relief she felt in the security of her dearest friend's arms. By the way Will's arms held her so tightly to him, it was clear he felt similarly.

"Oh, Will."

"Cosette," he choked, saying it as if it were the holiest of prayers. "Thank God you are alright."

"I could do with a decent night's sleep but you know me," Cosette cheered meekly. "It takes more than this to rattle me."

Will scoffed, cupping her face in his hands. "Then you are far stronger than I. I feel as if I have aged horrifically from all the terror and chaos of the past week."

"You always were an old man." A slither of laughter escaped her lips despite everything.

Will's smile softened. "Hello, to you too."

Her throat tightened to the point of pain, and she threw her arms around his neck again, embracing him tightly. The message was conveyed.

"I missed you, too," Will murmured, squeezing her in return. He even lifted her briefly, spinning her round in jubilation. For that moment, everything was once again right in the world in Cosette's eyes.

Nothing could have felt more wondrous, or heavenly that to be in the arms of her dearest friend again. The sound of her name being called across the room was the only thing that shattered their joyous revelry.

She paused, once more feeling recognition dawn on her. It was as if she was a small child again, as she hurried towards the man calling her, and beamed with every step.

"Uncle Armaund!" Cosette gushed, throwing her arms around him. Needless to say, the gesture was returned with equal fervour as the man recognised the girl who had all but descended upon him in a mad flurry of silk and blonde curls.

"Oh, my dear niece," he whispered, pressing a tender kiss to the top of her head. "I am mightily gladdened to see you. We had feared the worst."

"I'm alright, especially now that I have found you and Will," Cosette replied without hesitation, even if she knew it was a blatant lie. That very second she felt as if she was about to combust with sheer relief and overwhelming joy. It was only the grip of her uncle, that held her steady, especially as he pulled back. His eyes suddenly seemed to be examining her as if to prove her wrong.

"He didn't hurt you?"

"No," Cosette lied smoothly, glad for the lengthened sleeves on her dress. That, and the amazing gift that was makeup. This was not a conversation she wished to have now, if at all. Not when she could almost feel Chauvelin's presence still, lingering in the air like a foul stench. She half expected to see a blur of black fabric in the crowd at any moment. "He did not, and we can discuss this later, can we not? I merely wish to find my father and leave this place as soon as possible."

"You and me both," Will added softly. "We have been here long enough. As it is I can not see the others anywhere."

"They are around," Armaund soothed, pressing another affectionate kiss to her forehead. "We all separated to find you sooner. Now that we have found you, we indeed best be leaving. The moment we are back on English soil will not be too soon… Stay here with young Ffoulkes, and I'll try and recover the others."

Even as a small child Cosette Blakeney had always adhered to the requests of her uncle. This time was no different as she watched him stride back into the fray behind them. Part of her was desperate to keep ahold of her family with both hands now that she had reclaimed it… or at least part of it.

Then again, she knew Armaund would not be long. Even in a house this size Percy Blakeney knew how to make himself seen, and she doubted Armaund would have too hard a time gathering the others. Where Percy went, the others were only a step behind.

That left her and Will to await their return. A prospect that, under normal circumstances, would not feel so challenging or uncomfortable. Then again, Cosette knew why her insides turned, rather than danced about in excitement. She knew why it felt as if she were stood beside no more than a stranger, rather than her dearest friend in all the world.

She took a deep breath. With what little resolve she had left, she composed herself before turning back to face him.

The questions had been burning in her mind since the moment she had seen him. His presence meant one thing first and foremost: he knew the truth. He knew about her father, his father and the league. He knew everything there was to, and the only question that mattered now was for how long?

Had he always known? Had he kept it from her through obligation or choice? Considering there were few others she had deemed more trustworthy in all the world, this news hit her harder than any blow Fumier had dealt her.

"So," she began calmly, fixing him with a curious glance that immediately snagged his attention. "How long have you known?"

"Known?" Will breathed dumbly, fully aware of what she referred to. "About what?"

"My father being the Pimpernel?" she whispered sharply. "And your father, a part of his league."

Before she had even finished speaking his eyes had widened in panic. He pulled her aside hastily toward the windows as if to grant them a semblance of privacy in the overcrowded ballroom. "I don't think this is either the right time or place for this conversation, Cosette."

"Then when would be better, Will?"

"When we're not stood in the middle of France, for starters," he replied glibly. Will paused, sincerity clear in both his tone and expression as he released his hold on her arm and sighed. "Until mere moments ago I had thought the worst, that you could be dead or god knows what. Can't we just spend five minutes celebrating the fact we're both here, together, alive?"

Cosette knew immediately he had a point. As desperate as she was for answers, there would be time aplenty once they returned to a safer, more private location. Having this discussion here, now, was probably not the smartest of ideas - even if it was remarkably tempting.

"Fine," she conceded, her tone softening dramatically as she looked up at him. "I'm sorry. You're right. I'm merely surprised to see you here, is all."

"You're not alone there," Will smirked. "As I say, I only learned the truth of this matter when I caught my father leaving and confronted him about my suspicions. I then forced him and your father to allow me to come to Paris."

"It is a small relief to know at least, I was not the only one kept in the dark by those I trust and love most."

"Cosette-"

"I'm sure they had their reasons." Her tone was sharp, and Will could detect the hurt that laced every syllable; the hurt that had been festering underneath her skin since the day Chauvelin had revealed the truth to her. "I am merely surprised they let you come."

She genuinely was. Of all the faces she had expected to see at this party, he had been the last. After all, the league had spent her whole life hiding the truth from their families and excluding them from any of their business. Why now would they choose to change such convention?

Even if Will was telling the truth and had only just discovered this, then why had they chosen to tell him? Furthermore, what in god's name possessed them to think to allow him on this mission was in any way smart? To risk their lives was one thing, but that they'd risk another of their children…

"It is a long story, and one I will tell you another time. I swear." Will sighed softly as she stepped into his arms so that his chin could rest atop her head. His tone was earnest enough that Cosette believed him. Will was always a man of his word. "I wanted to be here— to get you. Find you. Bring you home."

"You do certainly enjoy a dramatic entrance."

He chuckled, his breath warming her hair as she listened to the sound rumble through his body. It was as if he could sense her inner turmoil, hearing her inner dialogue as clearly as the music that serenaded them.

However, they were not able to say another word. For, for what felt like the hundredth time since Cosette had stepped foot on French soil, a bitter irony-filled the room. It was as if God had chosen that moment to echo the words that had just slipped out of her mouth.

Apparently, she was not the only one who liked to make a dramatic entrance.

A sudden loud bang filled the air silencing all revelry dead in its tracks. Cries of alarm filled the air, drowning out what was left of the musicians. Cosette knew just as well as they did the sound of a pistol shot. She also recognised the sight of the tricoloured sash coiled around the shooter's waist as he stood on a nearby table, pistol raised aloft.

The moment lasted for an eternity. Not a soul in the room dared to move or say a word. Their attention was entirely on the unwanted guest, caught in rapture as they watched his expression sour.

It was followed by a cry that sent terror piercing into their very souls: "Stop in the name of the Ministry of Police! Vive le Empire! You are all under arrest!"

He had thrown paraffin to the flames.

The music ceased, replaced instead with screams as the crowd erupted in panic. Men in matching police uniforms began to pour in from all sides, blurring with the hundreds of guests suddenly fleeing, fists and feet flying immediately.

They had been betrayed, and Cosette knew exactly who by.

Regret filled her at the thought of how she'd been so foolish. As soon as she'd seen that letter she should have done something. Run away, tried to warn her father somehow… Instead, she'd done nothing and now they were trapped. Again. It seemed as if she were trapped in some sick cycle, doomed to repeat the danger again and again.

A hasty curse tore from her lips. Her eyes locked with Will's. They had to leave. Now.

"The back of the house," she stammered, slipping into a survival trance. "We need to find our way out of here."

"Won't they have that exit covered?"

Cosette gulped. "I have no idea, but it's our best option right now," she countered truthfully. All around them were guards, and they seemed to be blocking the stairs that lead back towards the front of the house, rounding up and brawling with whatever guests were nearest them. There wasn't any other choice, not unless they wanted to end up back in the cell Cosette had just vacated. "Come on. We have to find the others."

It wasn't so much a suggestion as an order. An order Will knew to obey without question.

He turned and began to lead the way into the adjacent room. Cosette latched her hand onto his as they subconsciously tethered themselves to one another. A fortunate decision, as it was like trying to swim against a current as everyone hurried toward the front of the house, unaware of the danger lurking there. Nevertheless, Cosette and Will aimed for the opposite direction and by god, they would let nothing stand in their way. Not even the police that suddenly appeared before them out of nowhere.

Before Cosette could even react, the crowd handled the situation for them. Apparently, they were not alone in their displeasure at the party crashers as two rather drunken looking men dragged one police officer to the side. Another officer was suddenly set upon by an irate woman with nothing more than the champagne bottle she had in her hand.

The sight was a reassuring one, if not also a little amusing. After all, fate had so far chosen not to bestow any good fortune upon the Pimpernel and his League of followers. Somehow it seemed their luck had decided to change, and just in the nick of time too.

Will was the first to seize upon the distraction, choosing to tackle one of the remaining guards that blocked their way. The task was made easier by the fact the odds now meant it was a fair fight, even if Will clearly had the advantage of height and build.

A crash filled the air as Will threw the guard into a table nearby. The item shattered under his weight, lying in pieces beneath his unconscious form.

Wasting no time, Cosette swiped the nearest piece of debris she could find. The table leg was surprisingly weighty in her hands, but her grip was tight.

Finally. Now she was armed, and what appeared to be just in time.

A yelp escaped her lips as she felt a hand seize her arm and attempt to haul her towards its owner. As soon as her eyes whipped around, she knew it was one of the guards. Without even hesitating she swung her free arm around - the arm that happened to also be holding said table leg.

The man didn't stand a chance as he crumpled to the ground in a heap.

"We must leave, now."

"But what of the others?" Cosette protested, spinning sharply and swinging the wooden leg in her hand again. She, fortunately, caught the head of a passing guard and watched as he tumbled to the floor, unconscious. "We can not just leave them, Will!"

"We must!" he urged. His eyes briefly darted to the guard at his feet, and for the briefest of seconds, Cosette would almost have said he looked amused at what she'd done. "They will find us later I swear! I shall explain, but we have to leave!"

Cosette cursed under her breath but looked at his outstretched hand with reluctant gratitude. The priority then was making sure she kept them both alive and in one piece to fight another day. It was the least she could do after he had come all this way just to save her from these very people, and the men she knew they were working for. Why else had they come?

With one last look over her shoulder, she hitched her skirts up and ran for her life into the depths of the house.

* * *

Across the hallway, the fight had spread. Just like fire, the flames of chaos and panic had engulfed the property, filling every nook and cranny until it sprawled forth onto the street outside. Everywhere people looked, residents and guests alike fled from the party and into the night.

That was Sir Percy's first clue all was not as it should have been.

True, this wasn't the first party he'd attended that had erupted into a brawl, or been swarmed by French police. However, he hadn't been expecting it to be the case tonight. Clearly, his foolish optimism had got the better of him once more. This entire week had been one hellish misfortune after the next.

For instance, tonight, he had been at the party for an hour without spying a hair or trace of his wayward daughter. His frustration, as well as the overwhelming splendour of the party, had forced him to pace back and forth as if he was not entirely sure if he should be in attendance.

So, he had merely stepped outside to inquire if any of the staff had seen anyone fitting his daughter's description. That was when he had heard the gunshot from inside.

Of course, he had turned and tried to plunge back inside to the party. However, the sudden stampede of guests and guards alike made it impossible. Hence his current predicament.

Percy drove his blade with deadly precision as he felled the three men around him. The sound of metal clashing was horrifyingly familiar, and every thrust and parry felt as if he had done it a thousand times.

"Is it too much to ask for one small miracle?" he vented, turning his gaze to the empty sky above. Apparently so. There was to be no divine intervention. The silence he gathered said as much.

Once more the Pimpernel had to save himself.

"Some things _never_ change."

* * *

Back inside the house, Cosette and Will had wasted no time. The pair of them hastily scarpered through the house, making their way to the staircase around the back. It seemed the logical place to go, and neither really had much time to debate otherwise. Not when there were more guards than either were prepared to handle.

"That way," Cosette urged, pointing to a vacant corridor ahead. It seemed the only clear passage at the moment, and it wasn't as if they had a lot of other choices. It was this, or take their chances with the numerous uninvited guests.

Will was in full agreement as he turned and followed her instruction. His hand hadn't left hers since the moment they had left the ballroom. It was as if he were afraid to lose her if he released her once again. Truthfully, Cosette was grateful for the support as they ploughed their way through the house as best as possible.

At least the crowds made it harder for the guards to identify her. She prayed such favour extended to the rest of their party in the building tonight… wherever the hell they were.

They didn't have time to worry about that now. Currently, the pair of them had enough troubles of their own. Like trying to make it out of here alive and in one piece - a feat remarkably easier on paper than in practice. Something she was once more reminded of as they made their way around the corner of the hallway and stopped dead in their tracks.

The corridor was blocked, as was their only chance of getting the hell out of this building. Yet, as Cosette turned her gaze towards the barricade, she felt her heart stop.

"Where do you think you're going?"

Cosette froze at that voice. "Madame Juvai."

How could she have forgotten her in all the chaos - the chaos she had single-handedly created tonight. Cosette was now faced with the author of their misery and she seemed to be revelling in it.

There was something unhinged in the woman's eyes: that was the first thing Cosette noticed as she turned her attention back to her supposed 'saviour'. The dress was the same as before, as were her jewellery and fine posture. Yet, it wasn't hard to see the dastardly transformation the woman had undergone. The article she held in her hand made that abundantly obvious.

Cosette felt a strangled gasp slip from her throat as she eyed the kitchen knife in Juvai's hand. There was something mesmerising about the way it reflected the candlelight back in a dizzying flash. Where on earth had she retrieved that? Better yet, what did she intend to do with it? After everything Cosette had discovered about the woman she doubted very much she was about to use it to assist them in fleeing this place and their pursuers.

In fact, she felt very much the opposite.

"I should have guessed this was what you had planned." The accusation was clear as she took a defiant step forward, head held high. Cosette Blakeney was not one to run from a fight, and this one was now personal. "Will, this is Madame Juvai."

"So you're the one we have to thank for this after party," Will growled, his teeth flashing in the dimly lit hall in a gesture that made Cosette's heart pound. Rarely had she ever seen this side of him, this untamed, protective rage. "I don't believe we've had the pleasure yet."

"Ah, so you're the younger Ffoulkes," Juvai drawled in reply, turning her attention to the final member of this scene. "You look every part like your father. You also seem to have inherited his idiotic loyalty to the Blakeney Family. At least I understand your reasoning. A pretty face and a warm bed have always been man's undoing."

"How dare you!"

"You betrayed us," Cosette accused fiercely, her hand clenching at her side. "I trusted you!"

"It was nothing personal, Cosette. It was merely business. Some of us still have to live in this city, and not all of us were granted the new life our revolution promised."

"And that gives you an excuse to abandon all moral principles? To act like nothing more than a petty gold digger?"

"Says the heiress."

Cosette's blood boiled at how Juvai had spat that word like it was an insult. As if Cosette didn't already know how blessed she had been in her birth and situation. As if Cosette and her family hadn't done all in their power to support and care for those on their land above and beyond what the call of duty dictated. As if Cosette and her family weren't even here, paying the price for saving thousands of innocent lives that had been caught up in a conflict that wasn't even their own to worry about.

"My mother came from these streets, and she hasn't let me forget for one moment of my life how privileged I am," Cosette roared back defiantly. For the first time since arriving in Paris, she felt control over herself, over this confrontation. "I never asked for this, but by some miracle, I was born a Blakeney. I have never allowed myself to behave like you believe all us heiresses to. I have honoured my name, my legacy by doing all I could to repay the kindness and good fortune I've been bestowed."

"Ah yes, good fortune," Juvai drawled, sauntering closer. "Is that what you call it? Your mother whoring herself out to an English lord and spreading her legs in the name of good fortune."

"You take that back!"

"Make me," she hissed, holding the knife higher as if to remind her of the threat she held. "You may think you're special my dear, but you're nothing more than a payday."

"My mother was your friend! I'm sorry if your life hasn't turned out how you wished it, but that is no fault of mine or my family."

"Marguerite St Just was and is nothing but a greedy, whore who should have been swallowed by her precious revolution-"

She never had the chance to finish.

Cosette had taken half a step forward but was saved the trouble of silencing their foe. Will took the matter into his own hands, charging at Madame Juvai in a protective gesture. He thrust her arm upwards and into the wall, knocking the knife safely aside in a gesture that was oddly well rehearsed.

"Unhand me!" Juvai hissed, struggling against him, Even unarmed she was unwilling to let them walk out of here. Not when she had so much riding on this evening and its outcome. Maybe that was why she thrashed against Will so violently that he could barely restrain her.

He cursed as she stamped down hard on his foot. His grip slacked, allowing her to twist free in response.

However, she hadn't been paying attention. So consumed with trying to free herself and grab ahold of Cosette, Madame Juvai had forgotten her surroundings. This was her undoing as she pulled away from Will with surprising force.

Juvai tripped, staggering as she tumbled backwards. There was something horrifying about watching the way her arms flailed about as she tried to grab a hold of something, and failed. What's more, it was as her heel caught in her dress skirts that Cosette felt herself gasp and lunge forward.

"Wait," Will burst, but he was too late. Neither of them could stop her.

Madame Juvai's cry filled the hall as she tumbled backwards and over the top of the narrow staircase she had failed to notice behind her. Down, down, down, she rolled, landing in an undignified heap at the bottom. The tangle of limbs and silk skirts was harrowing enough a sight without the deep crimson of her hair sprawled out amongst it.

"Oh god," Cosette choked, even if a tiny part of herself wasn't concerned about the fate of the unconscious woman below.

"I … I didn't mean to - " Will stammered, looking as equally distressed by his actions, even if it was not his fault. "I mean, is she-"

"She's breathing," Cosette soothed hastily, and with more finality than she'd expected. She could just about make out the rise and fall of the woman's chest as she lay there at the bottom of the staircase. Even then, they had bigger things to be concerned with. Juvai would get what was coming to her. She had failed tonight and that was victory enough for now.

Apparently, Paris would make monsters of them all.

"You saved us, Will. Don't waste that opportunity," Cosette continued, desperately pulling his attention back to her with a simple kiss on the cheek. "We need to go, alright?"

His reluctant nod was confirmation enough for now.

With that, they seized their advantage and all but ran as fast as they could back out the door and to freedom.

"I had that under control, just for the record," she panted as they hurried toward the back stairs.

"I know," Will replied swiftly. "We just didn't have time for a long drawn out debate. We are in the middle of a police raid."

"As if I could forget!"

Cosette staggered to a halt as she was about to turn, but not before she saw the sight before her across the courtyard. There she saw several guards, caught in a fight with another man who was clearly winning. His speed and skill were tenfold of the men he faced, and Cosette knew immediately who he was before she even saw his face in the moonlight.

She felt it in her soul the call to run to him, to help him… to help her father.

"Father!" Cosette screamed, seeing him across the courtyard. He did not hear and she was about to run to him when she felt a hand on her arm. Will's grip was strong, holding her fast as she struggled against him. "Will, let me go!" she pleaded, knowing it was hopeless as he began to pull her further from the scene. "We have to help him."

"He will be fine, Cosette. You, however, need to get to safety. I swore to him I would do that, and I will. He will find us as I said, but we need to leave! There are too many guards!"

"But-" she almost sobbed. Frustration coursed through her veins, boiling into white-hot rage.

"I'm so sorry, Cosette. I truly am," Will begged, sounding every bit as pained as she that this was how the evening had to end. Cosette could see the remorse behind his desperate plea. "But right now, we have to keep moving… Please."

That broke the last of her resolve. Without another word, she did.

* * *

Back across the courtyard, Percy Blakeney was blissfully ignorant of the fact he was yet again so close yet so far from the thing he desired most in this world.

As he swung his sword, felling another assailant, his attention was on nothing other than trying to survive the night long enough to find the others and get them back to the safe house. It was what drove him with such power, such precision, as he made light work of the fact he was outnumbered greatly.

"Honestly, only one of me and four of you hardly seems fair," he boasted. A devious wink escaped him as he ducked another blow and returned one of his own. "You're almost making this too easy for me."

Be that as it may, it didn't make him any less grateful for the sudden cry of, "Percy, duck!"

Percy dropped immediately. He heard the shot, followed by a man's groan as the guard behind him fell to the floor like a rock. He didn't need to turn to know Tony was the one responsible, pistol still held aloft in the direction of the assailant he had just hit.

He flashed him a grateful smile, one etched with concern. "Nice shot," he cheered. However, he turned his attention to finally dispatching the last of their current problems. It took only a handful of blows for him to finish the job. "Now where in God's name are the others?"

Tony was the first to answer him. He was also the only one to answer him considering he was the only other league member in the street. "They're just… Andrew was ahead of me last I saw, headed to check our escape route, as was-"

"-I'm here," Hastings interjected breathlessly, suddenly appearing in the doorway. It was as if he had sensed the perfect moment to make his dramatic entrance. "No one needs to panic. I'm here."

"Oh, goodie."

"No need to be sarcastic, Tony," Hastings bit back, even if their smiles betrayed their true feelings about the situation. They were just as relieved as each other to see they'd made it out. "Where are the others?"

Percy also released a small breath of relief, glad to know at least some of their party were safe. A fact he confirmed for himself as he clapped them both on the shoulder. "Andrew is checking our escape route, and the last I saw, Armaund went to find Will and Cosette."

Hastings blinked. "You found her?" he gasped.

"Yes."

"Oh, thank the lord."

The sentiment was mutual.

"Thank the lord indeed. Is she alright?" Tony added hastily.

"I… I…" Percy honestly didn't have the words to answer that. His brother in law had been vague with the details, too busy beaming as he'd hurried over with the good news. He'd hardly stopped for breath before hurrying off, telling the others to make their way downstairs and join them. "You shall be able to ask her yourself shortly."

Yet again, his men had impeccable timing as Armaund chose that moment to make his miraculous return. It was as if he had sensed his name being discussed as he hurried out the building in a frantic daze.

"Percy!" he cried, relief visibly overwhelming him as he clapped eyes on his comrades.

"Armaund," he echoed, followed by Tony and Hastings.

He then realised that he did not see Cosette or Will.

Without thinking, he strode up to Armaund, took his arms in his hands. "Where is Cosette?" Percy demanded helplessly. "You said she was with you before you went back. Where is she, Armaund?"

Armaund's expression was visibly pained as he brought his eyes to meet those of his brother in law. "Forgive me, Percy. She was not there when I returned… in all the chaos she must have had to flee. Will is surely with her though and will keep her safe. He will follow our protocol. Please forgive me, I beg you."

"Of course," Percy sighed softly, trying to maintain his composure as he released the man and looked to those around him. Right now, he had to focus on them - his men - and guide them to safety before he could worry about his daughter's. As much as it tore him apart inside, what leader would he be if he could not protect those sworn to fight by his side?

"Percy!" Andrew's voice echoed through the night to him as his friend hurried to him. "There are guards on all the main roads. Chauvelin and Fouché must have claimed we were spies! We have to leave now if we wish to remain free."

"Agreed."

His expression was grim as he faced his men once more. They knew what they had to do.

"Group together. Take the back roads, and meet at the house if possible. All else fails, we follow the code."

His men nodded, dispersing as fast as they could, melting into the inky night.


	16. Chapter 15

Cosette did not think she had ever done this much running in her entire life. The past week had been nothing but fleeing from one fight to another. It filled her with such rage that she quivered as she bolted for her life, hand firmly clasped in Will's, as he all but dragged her through the streets.

What she would have given to stay, to fight her ground… all this running left her feeling like a coward. Was that not what she was, abandoning her father and his men back there? She had left them to fend for themselves, instead choosing to flee - granted Will had not exactly given her much choice in the matter. Were it not for the clatter of footsteps behind them, signalling their pursuers were very much still on the hunt, she would have stopped and said as much to him, along with several very disrespectful curses.

"This way," Will hissed under his breath as they turned yet another sharp corner, and hurried down the next narrow street.

Cosette had no clue as to where they were, and she highly doubted Will did either by the way he kept glancing around him as if looking for some divine sign to show them the way.

Cosette really was ready to start cursing at every and anyone she could. The feeling only grew as the pair of them all but skidded to a sudden halt, eyes staring at the end of the street in complete and utter horror.

There was no street as the road reached a dead end, only the edge of the rusted iron railing that ran parallel to the Seine that flowed beneath.

"For the love of-!" Cosette cursed, pulling herself free of Will's grip. Her heart plummeted realising that they were well and truly trapped. Any minute now and the small number of Fouché's men that had followed them would be upon them.

What could they do? Cosette knew for a fact neither she nor Will, were able to scale the walls either side of them to escape to the rooftops above. They also had no weapons, save Will's sword attached to his side but what was one man against ten?

"Will-"

"We have to jump."

The words had hardly left his lips before Will was already clambering up on to the edge of the railing, teetering dangerously close to the edge. One false step and he'd plummet into the waters below. Yet, it didn't seem to faze him as much as it did Cosette, who stared at him with wide eyes.

"Pardon?"

"It is the only way."

"You must be mad," Cosette gasped, eyeing him with disbelief. "We would never make it."

"It's that, and take a chance to save our lives, or surrender to the mercy of the guillotine," he shot back, reaching his hand out towards her. "Which would you prefer? I would remarkably like to live, which you can hardly fault me for."

"No. But I can fault you for thinking this is a good plan-" Cosette didn't really have time to reply as she took his hand, and with as much grace as she could muster, she hauled herself up beside him on the railings. Her eyes clapped onto the drop below, and she felt herself begin to panic even more than before.

Bayonet or drowning? Hardly the average choice for an English heiress. Yet, nothing about her life seemed to be remotely average these days. Not in the slightest. So, it only felt rather natural to have reached this predicament- or so Cosette thought morbidly as she flashed Will one last determined look.

He was afraid. She did not know whether or not that was reassuring. The fear was clear as day, even if he was trying to hide it behind a confident smile.

At least she wasn't alone.

The moment she saw the glint of the soldiers' bayonets rounding the corner of the street, Cosette didn't hesitate. Her heart leapt as she turned, all but dragging Will with her over the side of the wall, and down into the icy depths of the Seine.

The cold was the first thing Cosette felt.

It was so sudden and so sharp, numbing her body so immensely that all the air in her lungs was expelled in shock as she plummeted beneath the water. The next sensation Cosette was aware of, was the dark. It was impossible to see anything in the murky depths around her, as Cosette desperately tried to locate Will beside her. It was pointless. She could hardly make heads or tails of which direction to swim in, only knowing she had to move or risk certain death.

With a silent prayer, she began to swim, forcing her way onwards against the current and the drag of her weighty clothes which were now full with the river. Stupid gown and all its layers... it was as if she had tied an anchor to herself, which in addition to both the panic and lack of air, made the swim all the more frantic and wearisome.

Every stroke felt like she was trying to claw her way out of a pit of tar. Her muscles ached immensely and she all but wanted to cease altogether.

Cosette didn't stop. Her determination propelled her onwards as she moved. Her lean limbs kept to their own mindless rhythm, almost as if of their own accord. She had to imagine she was back home, swimming in the lake at Blakeney Manor. She remembered how her father had taught her to swim there. It was all about keeping your breathing calm, and your movements precise.

She tried her best, pushing and clawing her way onwards until her lungs were about to burst. She could see the faint outline of a bank beside her and suddenly used all her remaining strength to reach it.

Hopefully, she'd been under long enough to confuse the guards… then she'd be safe.

Cosette didn't have the energy to think any more though as the pain in her lungs became all too much. Helplessly her lips sprung apart, the remaining air in her lungs flooding out in a sudden burst of bubbles, replaced only by gallons of water.

She would have gagged.

She would have screamed.

She could barely even keep her eyes open as darkness began to threaten her senses…

Zounds! It was only a few more strokes… she could make it.

She had to make it…

Cosette didn't even realise she'd made it, not even as her wearied body clawed its way through the sand beneath her. Not as she finally collapsed, face down, breath unable to fill her properly. It was as if every time she opened her mouth she was pouring acid down it as the bitter water of the river emptied itself from her lungs. Cough after cough wracked her body.

It was only as she stopped coughing that she finally began to acknowledge the hand that was placed delicately on her back, holding her steady as she lay there shivering. Her whole body ached and burned in agony, and all she wanted was to sleep. Her eyelids even began to droop as she felt herself start to fall back to the sandy bank beneath. Yet, a sudden cry of her name roused her. It was as if she had been branded the way she sat up and cried out, eyes frantically locking on whom the voice belonged to.

Will.

His locks were sodden, plastered against his forehead and framing his wild green irises as they analysed her. She couldn't help but find herself doing the same.

"Are you alright?"

"I… I think so," Cosette stammered, almost as in a daze.

"Good," Will breathed, taking her icy hands in his and pulling them both to stand. Cosette would have protested she was able to stand on her own, yet the way her legs trembled dangerously beneath her said otherwise. For that reason, she was more than grateful to take Will's support. "I think we lost them."

"I should hope so unless they dived in after us."

Will smirked at the thought. "I highly doubt that."

"Oh. Good." The sarcasm was oozing from her voice. "The fact we are the only people insane enough to brave that dive is a positive thing."

"Well, I am usually an optimistic person."

"You are an annoying person, actually," Cosette countered sharply, trying and failing not to smirk at his enthusiasm.

"An annoying person who just saved your life."

Cosette rolled her eyes, turning and marching back up the bank to the nearest stairs. "Why do I feel that you will be reminding me of that detail for a long while?'

Cosette could not resist the sudden urge to throw Will back into the Seine, but alas they had neither the time or opportunity. If they were to make it out of the sight of the ever-watchful city guard, then they had to move. They had only bought themselves a small window of advantage. They were not foolish enough to let it pass.

"Because," Will grinned, hurrying alongside her. His hand had yet to release hers. "You know me so well, dearest friend. And I can not believe that actually worked."

Cosette cursed under her breath. Sink her. They were doomed, actually doomed.

* * *

It felt as if they'd been running forever. Cosette could barely feel her feet as they staggered down the alleyway, bathed in the inky cloak of night.

They had been on the move for the previous hour, and yet they were not at wherever it was Will was supposed to be taking her.

"Where are we going?"

"Nearest safe haven," Will gasped, murmuring under his breath to her as they went. "The roads are too busy for us to make it back to the safe house tonight. We shall be safe here till morning."

Cosette trusted Will when he said that. Also, she was too tired to argue anyway. It was hard enough to keep her feet moving.

It turned out their destination was a huge stone building with flags hanging up from the open windows. There were also lights from inside the tavern pouring out into the darkened streets. And the noise - lots of noise.

The symphony of drunken singing, arguing and music drifted through the night. It was hard to miss the place considering it could be heard from several streets away.

Will did not say anything to her but simply strode ahead like he had seen this sort of thing every day since he was a child. His lack of fear inspired Cosette to follow close behind; that, and the secure grip he had on her hand.

The noise was even more assaulting on the eardrums when she went inside. The interior also left a lot to be desired. The theme of this 'palace' was dim and dank and hard to see who you were talking to. But then, when Cosette passed the clientele that occupied this place, that probably was part of the appeal.

Cosette did find herself averting her eyes from anyone in particular. Though she did feel the eyes of the hardened labourers and barge workers, as she followed her friend. Possibly because she was the only woman there. Possibly because she was an outsider and dripping wet in the most ridiculous gown. Or maybe both.

 _This_ was what the League called a haven?

As if sensing her discomfort, Will smiled comfortingly at her. "We made it. It will be over soon, I promise."

"You don't realise how much I hope that is true. I could sleep for a week."

"Hopefully, we can." Will looked just as much as in need of a decent night's rest as she was. However, as they approached the bar it became clear that it was unlikely to happen anytime soon.

Behind the bar stood an interesting fellow.

"Excuse me, citizen," Will began cheerfully, arm tightening around her waist. "Would you happen to have rooms for my beloved and me tonight? I appreciate the short notice, but we would be willing to compensate you for any inconveniences."

His French was just as fluent, and flawless, as her own. True, his exhaustion made his accent a little less consistent, but it clearly was not an issue to their host. His attention was solely on their fine clothes, and the purse of coin that now sat in Will's hand.

The man paused, glancing them over before nodding vigorously. "We only have the one room, mind you."

"We will take it," Will replied begrudgingly. Cosette could see his hesitation as clear as day, but it was not as if they had any other choice right now. There was simply no other option, and it was not as if anyone there was likely to leak the scandalous turn of affairs to English society. To the crowds around them, Will and Cosette were just another amorous couple. There was nothing for it - they would have to take the single room.

Will dropped the coins into the man's hand and stepped back to allow him to pass and guide them to their room. Needless to say, the back of the tavern was just as bleak as the rest of the place but much more ram-shackled.

As they proceeded down the corridor that ran along the back of the establishment, they approached a set of stone stairs that seemed to ascend upwards into the darkness above.

"Up there," their host declared sharply with a rough flick of his hand. "Room at the end."

Will nodded in thanks, taking the key the man dangled before them with a visible air of relief. He was clearly thinking the same thing Cosette was: this dreadful night was nearly at an end.

With a weary sigh, Cosette ventured up the stone stairs. The dust was even thicker leaving footprints where she had walked. There was oddly enough only one room up the stairs but opening it up, Cosette saw it was quite a substantial room.

It was long with a large bed, with a wooden headboard, and a fireplace in the opposite wall. A rickety pair of chairs and a little table sat before it, the only other furniture in the room. There was also a boarded-up window at the opposite side of the room.

Curiously she walked over to the shoddy excuse for a window and peeked through one of the gaps between the boards. The view looked over the surrounding rooftops, and even down to the Seine that was only a few streets away. Though too dark now, it must have been a handsome sight when allowed its full potential, or so Cosette mused wearily.

"We shall die of cold at this rate," Will sighed, loitering in the doorway. He paused, gesturing to their dampened attire. "I think our clothes drank half of the river. I should go see if I can bribe our host for some wood, and perhaps a dry change of clothes."

Cosette nodded weakly, unsure of what to say. Whereas Will seemed fuelled by a burning determination, the evening had all but worn hers away. An unusual helplessness prohibited her from knowing what else to do other than nod, and listen as Will created his plan. It was why she did not say anything as she watched him leave the room a moment later, and why she again remained silent when he returned, a set of dry clothes in his hand.

"Here," he offered, extending what appeared to be a faded green coloured dress. "Took a little more effort but our host's wife was almost accommodating."

Cosette's lips flickered into a smile as she gratefully took the bundle from him. "Your charming nature and purse were responsible I'm sure."

"How cynical you have become," he teased.

However, Cosette flinched at the harrowing accuracy of his words. She turned away as she struggled for the words to reply. "What can I say? My view of the world has somewhat altered this past week."

"You are not alone in that." Will sighed, rubbing his neck awkwardly. The air between them had curdled as if haunted by the sheer volume of things they had to say to one another. But there would be time for that, later, when this was all over. "You can change first," he offered, heading back towards the door again. "I'll acquire some dinner in the meantime."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive." His smile was sympathetic as he stepped forward and squeezed her hand affectionately. "You have had a tiring few days. Finding you something to eat is the least I can manage."

With that, he turned and left the room, granting her a few precious moments of privacy.

Cosette chose to capitalise on them and peeled off the boots from her sore feet, sighing as she left them abandoned on the floor. The next item to follow was the dress she wore, which was hastily removed and tossed beside them, hopefully, to be burned - or so Cosette murmured as she kicked it viciously.

Lousy Madame Juvai, and her treachery.

Cosette calmly pulled on the new dress, sighing in relief as she felt its clean caress on her aching skin. Indeed, it wasn't the most comfortable to sleep in, but it was clean and it was in good condition. The only irritation she had with the garment was the shortened sleeves, which ended just beneath her elbow, revealing her forearms and wrists to the world.

Even in the dampened light of the candle she could see the discolouration from the bruises and marks still, etched into her. There truly was no way she could hide them, not from Will of all people, which made her even more vexed. Still, there was nothing to be done and she was honestly too tired to care. Every moment that passed was another moment closer to her eventual collapse from exhaustion.

Sleep tonight. Survive tomorrow.

She looked up as the door opened again and Will re-entered, looking far more composed than he had been before. Her eyes also landed on the tray in his hands. Two dishes sat on it, along with two glasses and a bottle of wine.

"Is that stew?" Cosette breathed in, stepping aside and shutting the door while he set the tray on the small table that sat in front of the fire.

"It is stew if the cook's to be believed."

"Did you really have to tell me that?" Cosette sighed, oddly still as hungry as before even when confronted with the unknown substance. Will smirked. That smile tugged on something low in her gut, and she looked away, sitting down beside the food, careful not to jostle the tray. "What is the other one beneath?"

"Meat pie. I did not dare ask what kind of meat." Yet again she shot him a glare, but he was already edging around the bed to the chair opposite her. "Go ahead and eat," he said.

Reluctantly, she obeyed, her stomach gurgling in gratitude. In fairness, it was not a bad meal, and they both seemed content as they ate in silence for the following few moments.

"So," Cosette whispered, breaking their silence between mouthfuls. "What is this plan of yours then?"

"We'll meet them at the far corner of the main market just after dawn, when trade starts," Will replied steadily. "It is the usual protocol for when members of the league are separated - or so my father told me."

"Sounds logical enough. I only hope the others made it somewhere safe."

Will paused, smiling at her reassuringly. "They will have, Cosette. I know it."

She was glad he did because she did not. In truth, her heart was still heavy with concern. At least she was no longer alone.

"Thank you," she whispered, eyes fixed firmly on the floor. "Thank you for not asking yet about everything. I know you must want to, and I know you probably have a thousand questions-"

"-they will keep," Will soothed immediately, his hand gently lifting her gaze to his. "We have all the time in the world to discuss it if, and when, you wish to. You are safe now. I promise."

There was a pause as each stared into the other's eyes.

"Besides," he added with a casual shrug. "It is your story to tell. I have no right to make you tell it if you would prefer not to."

The gratitude and affection Cosette had felt previous to that moment amplified tenfold. Not many men she knew had the restraint or even the consideration and compassion that Will had.

So they continued to eat in companionable silence until there was nothing left on the plates before them. Instead, they both turned their attentions back to the world, and the room, around them. As Will busied himself with tidying the remnants of their dinner, Cosette found herself wandering toward the open window and the view visible from it.

How she wished this moment could be different. How she wished that visit was one of simple English nobility touring the continent. She could almost feel Will's shoulder against hers as he eventually joined her there. They stood together, watching the night side by side.

"It is almost funny, that I have always wanted to visit Paris," Cosette whispered, her eyes lingering on the glittering lights of the street below. "I just never imagined I would see it under circumstances like this."

Maybe it was her tone, or the whimsical expression on her face as she gazed into the moonlight, but Will paused, unable to look away from her.

"If it is any commiseration, I doubt anyone would have imagined being here under these circumstances. I much less believe anyone would have chosen them either."

Cosette sighed. "I used to imagine what it would be like, what I'd do and where I'd go. I would visit the Jardin de Tivoli, and see all the sights like a proper English tourist. I used to imagine I'd let Mama take me to the Theatre des arts, and she and Papa would show me where they used to meet."

"I always wanted to visit Notre Dame, personally," Will confessed, a sympathetic smile clear on his lips. "Who knows? Maybe one day we'll come back here, and we'll get to have our proper visit."

"I doubt I shall ever want to come back after this," Cosette muttered but not without a little smirk. The idea of returning seemed a horrid prospect, but the idea of returning with Will made it seem a little more appealing.

However, the look on his face at that moment was not a whimsical one, full of daydreams about future exploits together.

Cosette was conscious that the water had taken away her last defence, revealing the bruising on her face for all to see. It was why she kept her face towards the window and out of the light. Apparently, it had not been enough.

His hand hovered beside hers, grazing his skin against hers.

"May… May I?" he whispered hesitantly.

Cosette nodded, knowing better than to protest.

With great care Will gently took a hold of her hands, turning them over and lifting them into the dim light of the candle. The amber flame lit the bruises and marks well enough to make them visible, and by the way Will's breath hitched at the sight Cosette knew he'd seen them well enough.

"I will kill him," was all he managed to say an agonisingly long minute later. "I will storm back into that blasted building and kill him myself."

"Will, don't. They hardly hurt at all, they are but mere scratches. I am fine. I've had worse running around Blakeney manor with you. Truly," she pleaded, begging him to look at her and not her arms. "I'm free from him, and tomorrow we'll be on our way home. I don't need you to worry."

"But I will, knowing I let him do this to you. We all did, by not stopping this. He took you, and you have suffered, caught up in that animal's games."

"Will," Cosette pleaded again, pulling herself from his grip and placing her hands gently on his shoulders. "Look at me when I tell you I am alright. Please… I've been through enough, and I am exhausted. I just need you… I need my friend to tell me it is all right, and all over. Please… I can not take any more of this! I am not able to talk about this right now… not tonight."

Her face crumpled. A small, broken noise cracked from her.

The sound of her quivering voice seemed to be enough to silence Will. He said nothing, instead opening his arms to hold her against him tightly. The gesture was a comforting one, one that was familiar to both.

Gently, he pulled her hands away from her face. Tenderly, he took her cheeks in his hands and brushed away her tears.

For a long moment, they only breathed in each other's air. For a long moment, all she could do was take the scent of him deep into her lungs, letting it settle inside her. Her fingers tightened on his jacket.

She watched as his face lowered towards hers, till their noses brushed each other gently. Cosette's heart raced and she caught her breath in surprise. Slowly his hand brushed her cheek and she found his lips on hers.

She had never even imagined herself kissing anybody, let alone Will. Of course, she'd seen her parents occasionally kiss each-other, but they were so in love that it just seemed natural. Then again, that was precisely the word she would use to describe so perfect a moment: natural.

Nothing felt odd, in fact, her heart soared. Every place where their bodies met felt so warm and solid and real. It was enough to make Cosette almost believe she had transcended beyond that inn bedroom.

Only when there was no air between them, did they stop. Their faces, only millimetres apart, as they waited for the other to react.

"Sorry," Will whispered first, eyes frantically waiting for her response. "I should not have done that. Not after everything tonight, and not without asking you and your father's permission-"

Cosette had seen Will in every state before. Yet flustered Will was a whole new man to her, and she found it adorable.

"Will," she soothed instantaneously, cupping his cheek in her hand. "It is alright… here." With that, she kissed him again deeply, and just as passionately, before pulling back to smile up at his bewildered expression. "That enough of an answer for you?"

The ear-splitting grin he wore as he beamed back at her told her the answer was very much a "yes". However, it was not until he physically voiced the response that she relaxed in blissful relief.

"For now," he chuckled breathlessly, placing his hand over hers where it remained on his cheek. The moment was so intimate, even if brief. For, as much as they did not wish it so, the world around them had not stopped at the sound of their sudden declarations of love for one another.

It was late, and their adventure was far from over. The time for romance was not yet upon them, but if all went well, it soon would be.

"We need to sleep," Will murmured a moment later. "Including you."

Cosette knew he was right. "Fine, but only because I know every moment of sleep brings me one moment closer to seeing my Father again."

"I am insulted. Aren't I good enough company for you?" Will teased.

Cosette laughed at the thought. "You'll do for now… as it is I doubt I'll be let of his sight anytime soon," she sighed. Will grinned mischievously at her, making her heart pound faster than before.

"We'll work around that. In the meantime, rest," Will breathed softly, urging her towards the bed. "I'll take the watch in the chair by the door."

"You do not have to-"

"I will be fine, 'Settie. Relax. Besides, your father would gut me if he thought I had acted in any way that would besmirch your honour, and it's bad enough I am even remaining in the same room as you."

"I am not afraid of Percy Blakeney, even if you are," Cosette teased, but she didn't have the heart to debate about it any longer. So, with a soft smile, she edged onto the mattress and allowed herself to lie down against the sheets.

Cosette wanted to say more, she truly did. Yet, as her eyelids fluttered together she was almost immediately overcome with exhaustion. Perhaps it was the relief of knowing she was finally safe again, surrounded by someone she cared about, that lulled her into unconsciousness. However, before she could say another word she was sound asleep, with Will to watch over her protectively.


	17. Chapter 16

**_*Drum roll please* This is the chapter you've all been waiting for... and honestly, I loved writing it. I love the league and imagining their antics so much it actually hurts._**

 ** _Thanks as always to everyone who's favourited, reviewed, read this or sent me a message. I cherish each and every one. They're mostly the reason I managed to bang this out in under two weeks, which is always my aim but you guys made it easier. So, enjoy ;)_**

 ** _Thesilentmage_**

* * *

It was still dark when Cosette woke the next morning. Mere traces of dawn were beginning to invade the room, forcing themselves through the slits in the boarded windows. The sight of it was enough to make her pause, blinking as her body and mind sluggishly acclimatised.

She'd actually managed to sleep. That much was obvious as she yawned, and took in the rumpled sheets. It was astounding enough she'd managed to get any sleep, let alone sleeping for most of the night. Perhaps her exhaustion was truly to blame, but deep down she knew it was due to a certain person's presence more than anything.

It may have helped, but Cosette's chest still felt tight as she tried to focus on her surroundings. Her grip was tight on the sheets, clawing at them as if trying to hold onto the world around her, the real world, and not the realm of horrors inside her head.

A whine of hinges sent her heart racing. Her eyes whirled towards the door. However, the sharp swell of momentary panic all but disappeared as the door opened and Will appeared.

He looked just as tired, but relieved, as he had the night before. There was a warmth in his gaze as his eyes connected with hers, one that sent her heart fluttering as she cast her mind back. They had proven to each other just how much exactly they had missed one another, and just how happy they were to be reunited at last.

Her cheeks heated at the memory. It only grew worse as his warm eyes locked with hers in the morning sunlight. The warm glow of dawn made the world seem softer for a mere heartbeat, and Cosette was almost glad of it. If it weren't for the room around her, she could almost have sworn this was any other day.

"You're awake," Will breathed with a smile of surprise, loitering at the threshold. "I had thought you'd sleep a little longer yet, and I'd have the misfortune to have to rouse you."

Cosette laughed faintly. "You have nothing to fear on that front," she smirked. "I don't think I could have slept another wink. The noise from the street woke me."

"I confess it woke me too - woke me from the doze I had just managed to fall into," Will grumbled good-naturedly. He closed the door tightly behind him and stepped further into the room. "But it is probably for the best considering we should be leaving shortly if we are to meet the others."

"Of course." Carefully, Cosette peeled back the covers, easing to her feet. The world span for a brief moment as her body struggled to realise it was time to move. She had almost missed the plate in Will's hand, and the cup in the other. "Is that-?"

"Breakfast?" he finished for her, nodding as he hastened to her side, and handed the plate over to her. "Yes. I um, I admit I thought you might like a small bite before we went. You'll need strength today."

Cosette was suddenly taken aback by his concern that she hardly managed to even nod. She hated to imagine how long he had already been awake for. The haggard edge to his appearance was enough of an answer as it was, that and the fact the chair looked un-sat in. She wouldn't have put it past him to not have slept at all. "I… Thank you."

"It's only bread and cheese, I'm afraid," Will continued sheepishly, "but it was all I could find downstairs, and after last night's questionable meal I was not willing to try my luck."

"Will, it's fine. Thank you," Cosette gushed, tucking into the morsels with newfound gusto. She paused only long enough to pat the mattress beside her, gesturing for him to sit. He did so obediently, laughing all the while at her haste in consuming his modest offerings.

"You're welcome. It's the least I could do," he chuckled. "Finish that and we'll go."

Cosette didn't need telling twice. In fact, her plate and cup were emptied in a matter of seconds. They were then cast aside as the pair of them readied themselves for the day that lay ahead.

Cosette's hands lingered as she stared at the clasp on the cloak she had been provided with. What must she look like… all rumpled clothes, bruised skin, and untamed hair. It was enough to make her grateful for her disguise. Will, by comparison, suited the rugged look he was sporting and it was thoroughly unfair.

"About last night," Cosette began, trying to mask the awkward nature of her voice. The fact she tried to avert her eyes back across the room, as she waited for him to finish adjusting his coat, only made it worse. "I was thinking it probably best we don't mention any particulars to my father, or yours."

"Agreed," Will smirked, turning and taking a step forward so that he was leaning close to her again, making her heart pound. The way his eyes gleamed, she knew he knew precisely the effect he was having on her. "I doubt they'd approve."

"Exactly. Perhaps we should wait till we're back in England to mention anything… if at all."

"Very wise."

Cosette didn't feel that way with her heart pounding in her chest, and her face flushing embarrassingly. She was tempted to throw him back into the Seine just to wipe that satisfied smirk off his face.

"By the way, just an observation, but you do realise you make the most adorable face when you sleep?"

Will's declaration was enough to ruin any moment he may have just created. In fact, it startled Cosette so much that words seemed to evade her as he stepped back towards the doorway, looking thoroughly smug with himself.

"I do not!" she protested indignantly.

Will just grinned. "You do. Your nose crinkles and you curl up with your feet all tangled, just like you did as a child."

"William Ffoulkes," Cosette warned, even if her smile ruined the effect. "If you so much as say a word of this to anyone-"

"I wouldn't dare," he cackled, turning to the door in a somewhat timely retreat. "I've got enough people trying to kill me right now. I didn't come this far only to be murdered by you… or your father."

* * *

Hiding was quickly becoming something all too familiar for Cosette. Yet again, she was unable to stroll freely down the streets of Paris, despite the fine weather and somewhat pleasant atmosphere that hung in the air. Instead, she was forced to keep her head low, hood pulled tightly overhead as she trailed Will down the narrow streets. It was becoming rather vexing. All that aided her in keeping calm was the fact she knew every moment was a moment that she was closer to reaching her father.

She tried not to smile so brightly as she thought of it. To be so close to freedom, to safety, to family… Cosette could have very well run the entire way singing as she went. However, she opted for marching behind Will, the way they had since they'd left the inn a mere half hour ago.

"This way." Will paused as he issued another of his never-ending commands, gesturing to a street up ahead. It was clear he was as anxious as she was, but he seemed to channel his tension into guiding her. Still, she was not going to complain. "Stay close now."

"Will, relax," Cosette teased back softly, squeezing his arm affectionately. She wrapped her hand around his, pulling him close as they walked side by side. "I was not exactly planning on fleeing away from you."

"I'll merely feel better when we're both safely with the others."

"Me too."

Their eyes met in a weary exchange of understanding as they hurried on, fully aware they had each other and that they had made it thus far successfully. Even Cosette doubted the universe would be so cruel as to thwart them now when they were so close.

Her heart fluttered as she glanced upwards. The early morning sunlight began to fill the air, telling her time was moving onwards. Thankfully, it was at that moment they arrived at what appeared to be their destination.

The market was exactly as she thought it would be: busy, angry, and an assault on her senses. They had arrived in what appeared to be the peak trading hours, meaning the area was flooded with people, animals and stands alike.

"Aim for the clock tower," Will urged, eyes sweeping the scene for their destination. "It marks the northern side of the square."

It was hard to focus amongst so many distractions, yet Cosette felt as if her heart was tugging her attention in just the right direction. Her gaze wandered, desperately sweeping the skyline until she saw it.

The clocktower.

It was directly ahead of her, masked behind a row of houses that marked the edge of the market square. That was all she needed to guide her. With only a sharp tug on Will's hand, she was off, pushing her way forward as if nothing could possibly stand in her way. Clearly, the people around them realised this, as they hastily parted, allowing the almost running couple to hurry past.

So close… she was so close…

Cosette felt her heart pounding within her chest.

Her foot hovered mid-step as her eyes rose directly ahead. There, in the sunlight at the bottom of the steps ahead…

Immediately, Cosette turned and ran as fast as her heels could carry her. Will was left to follow after her as she disappeared with a single gasp.

She couldn't stop now. She saw the glistening blonde hair shimmering in the sunlight. It was her beacon of hope, come to her at last.

"Father!" she roared, dodging her way around a nearby apple cart.

At the sound of her voice echoing through the market, the figure turned and faced her directly. His face was a pure picture of joy and hope.

She'd done it. Her father was here at last. He began to run towards her, matching her pace as she soared toward him.

The previous days felt like an abnormal dream now, sunlight finally broke on her face, and with it was a joy. A joy she had lost so hopelessly, till now.

Within a few seconds, his arms were around her, and her face was buried in his cravat.

"Cosette," he sobbed stroking her hair gently. She felt herself go limp as she too sobbed into him. Her eyes stung from the tears she knew were staining his shirt, but she didn't care. All she cared about was holding on to him and never letting him go.

He clearly felt the same, even as his knees trembled. Before they knew it, both were kneeling there, weeping in joy.

"I thought I'd never see you again," she breathed as her voice returned to her at last. The moment was finally here, and yet her words remained absent. All those days spent imagining this moment in her cell, and she had never once pictured it like this.

"Oh my darling," he croaked in reply. "Did you ever doubt that I would find you?"

She laughed in delight as he kissed her cheek. The two pulled apart and looked into each other's eyes, for only a moment as the next second she was pulled to her feet and swung around in joy. She knew immediately whose arms she was in.

"Andrew! Tony! Hastings! Uncle Armaund!" she chorused, recognising the motley crew assembled around her, all of whom looked uncharacteristically emotional as they took their turn to embrace her.

"Cosette!"

"Sink us if you haven't grown even more beautiful," Andrew breathed, even if she knew it was a horrid lie. She looked a state: her face still bruised with purple bags to match, and with tears streaming down her face.

"Indeed. We missed you."

"I think I missed you all more," she cheered, gripping them each in deathly tight embraces.

Cosette was safe once again and surrounded by all those she loved dearest. No matter what she'd been through, all she suffered, she knew she had made it back into the arms of the men she loved dearest.

It didn't matter that this was the setting for their reunification - the shadowy Parisian market alleyways. All that mattered was that they were reunited at all. For that, Cosette could have been in Heaven itself and cared not. Besides, it was hard to see anything through the steady stream of tears that blinded her. A chuckle escaped her lips as she wiped them away. Thankfully she was spared any further attention as the group turned their gaze to their other newly reunited companion.

The very moment she was out of Andrew's arms, they had wrapped themselves around Will - a far less willing participant, but she saw his smile plain enough as he embraced his father. She wasn't the only one glad to be home.

"Thank God, Will."

"Father," he chuckled, though his voice did tremble in relief. "You sound almost glad to see me. Careful, else my ego won't be able to take it."

"I think I can live with that - I've suffered Percy long enough."

"I forgive you that comment," Percy smirked, "But only on account of your son's valour. You did well." Cosette had never heard her father sound so earnest before as his voice wavered. "We may make a League member of you yet, Will."

"Glad to hear you say so. I think after this week I've more than earned my keep."

Cosette couldn't help but feel both elation and terror at hearing that phrase aloud from Will's lips. All her life she had wished for adventure. All her life she had wished for excitement, danger, and a chance to be brave. But not like this… never like this.

How many times had they played Pimpernel? How many times had they duelled swords, written secret notes and pretended to risk it all in some daring escapade? They'd been children. They had nothing more to lose than ruined clothing or the odd scraped knee.

This was a whole new game… a game Cosette no longer wanted to play. She just wanted out. She just wanted to take her family and run, getting the hell out of France whilst they still could.

Apparently, Armaund could now read minds.

"As much as I love a good reunion, I think it was high time we were leaving Paris. Don't you?" her uncle interrupted, turning back to the alleyway. "We can carry on our celebrations elsewhere."

Cosette nodded. "I couldn't agree more."

"This way then, mes amis," Armaund ordered.

* * *

As promised, there, just beyond the city gates, waiting for them were seven mounts, all saddled and ready to ride. How her father managed to arrange all this Cosette truly had no idea. The man seemed able to perform miracles if he so wished.

Immediately each member chose their mount and went to step up into the saddle.

"Cosette, can you ride?" came her father's voice as he paused beside his own horse. "Or do you wish to ride with me?"

"I can ride," she replied decisively. In a way, she almost felt she could, despite her wearied state. The sight of her friends and family around her, in addition to the knowledge they would be free momentarily, was enough to give her the strength of ten men.

Besides, as much as Cosette wished for nothing more than to be able to rest against her father and sleep, she knew they would all be faster on their own. Right now, that came first. She had been enough of a hindrance as it was. She refused to be anymore.

With a small huff she stepped up into the stirrups and settled as best she could into position as if to prove her point. She did not fail to notice the six sets of concerned eyes that watched her as she did so, so composed herself as best she could.

"Good." Percy gave her a relieved smile and leapt up onto his horse. "In which case stay close to us. Hastings and I shall lead the way. It is only a short ride and we shall hopefully be there by nightfall if we are swift."

The horses galloped across the countryside hastily, churning up the dusty earth beneath their hooves. Cosette and the league watched as Paris became further and further away in the distance, blurred in a growing streak of green. No one said a word, merely focused on putting as much distance behind them as they could.

As it was, Cosette couldn't help but feel as if she was nearly wounding the poor animal in her desperation to reach their destination by nightfall. Every step she made was one more she was closer to being home again. That alone was enough to keep her upright, and her eyes firmly fixed on the road ahead.

Since it was dark when they finally arrived at their lodgings, no time was wasted in stabling their horses and hurrying inside. It was not a large building, being an all but abandoned farmhouse. It was intact, with several brick walls, and a large chimney visible over the thatched roof. It was one of those buildings whose walls all seemed to tilt and be of uneven heights, with thick layers of century-old plaster and paste. Thick beams embedded in the paste also added to the medieval decor and told Cosette just how old the building was.

Still, it was intact, in good condition and more importantly - empty. When the farm had last been inhabited, Cosette had no idea. With a fleeting glance as they passed, she steered her horse toward the awaiting stables round the back.

Cosette had only just slid off her horse and began to pull at the reigns when a sharp stabbing pain hit her side. She cried out, stuffing her hand in her mouth to muffle it as she clutched her stomach. Tony, being nearest, turned sharply from his own horse and crouched next to her.

"Percy!" he called sharply, before looking back at Cosette in concern. "Are you alright? What is it? Are you hurt?"

"She's injured," Will said roughly, hurrying over himself. "I don't know how badly. She would not say last night."

"That is because I am fine, I beg of you... I merely need to sit down and eat. It has been too long," Cosette pleaded gently. However it was of no use as Tony and Will proceeded to take an arm each, and support her weight between them. Together they began to aid her towards the farmhouse and to the awaiting worried men inside.

As it was, Percy all but flew to her side the moment she crossed the threshold. He immediately took a hold of her and hurried her up the stairs and to an empty bedroom.

Despite her best efforts, Cosette sagged in Percy's arms before he had finished guiding her to the bed. She sank gratefully down on to the mattress and he began to examine her wounds with a troublingly worried expression. It only grew worse once she shed her cloak, and revealed the extent of her inflictions.

He examined her wounds in the weak light of the candles. Cosette could not help but note the similarity with how Will had looked when he had done the same. However, unlike with WIll, she chose to remain silent during this examination.

"Nothing seems to be broken my dear, just greatly bruised," Percy pronounced a moment or two later. It was clear by the way his face seemed to be stuck in a twisted frown that despite the somewhat positive prognosis, it troubled him still. The fact he had also bathed every wound with a bottle of brandy, and bandaged her so thoroughly, also illustrated his lingering concerns.

"It feels as if something broke," Cosette joked weakly and her father patted her hand.

"I know. I too have had my fair share of blows."

"And I fear you'll receive many more when we finally talk about this, papa."

Percy paused, his face unreadable.

"I need answers, papa," Cosette sighed in reply. The entire ride here she had bitten her tongue, desperate to release the agony of the past week. "All these years, and all these secrets… I feel as if all I have ever known has been torn out from underneath me. You can not deny I did not deserve to find out like this, to discover my father has lied to me my entire life and that he does not trust me-"

Percy looked so horrified by her words he did not even let her finish the sentence. "Not trust you? My dear, you misunderstand me and your mother entirely. We did not keep this from you because we did not trust you. In fact, it caused us both great pain to know there was something which we could not share with you."

"Yet you didn't share with me," Cosette protested. "Instead, Monsieur Chauvelin told me. He has at least been more honest with me these past days than you -or anyone else- has been my entire life! Do you know how that feels?"

"I can not even begin to imagine." The solemnity in his eyes told her he very much could not. "We never wished for you to find out like this."

"Clearly," Cosette snapped back sharply, not trying to hide the venom that had seeped into her voice. She did not even realise she had pulled away from him and was on her feet, pacing the room in her frustration.

Percy followed her with his eyes, visibly at a loss for the words to say - the words to fix what he knew had been broken between them. For that pain alone Percy wanted to strike Chauvelin, for depriving his child of her remaining innocence.

"What actually was your plan, Papa? Were you and mother ever going to actually tell me about all this? Or were you never going to share the truth?"

"We were going to tell you, and Thomas, when the time was right - when we felt you would both be able to understand, be safe."

"Well, that's worked out splendidly so far," Cosette sniped, pausing to stare at her father. "In the end, not knowing was just as dangerous as knowing. Me not knowing about your past did nothing to prevent this. How can I even trust you anymore?" she breathed, hurt evident in every syllable.

"I was trying to keep you safe from my past."

"You certainly managed. You kept it locked away from me, hidden by lies and excuses, but in doing so pushed me away from the real you! I hardly feel as if I know you!"

"I have never wished to do that," Percy declared sharply, such pain in his eyes that it momentarily stunned her. "My father was a good man, and I loved him dearly but… with my mother's poor health, he was never truly around. I always swore any children of mine would never experience that isolation, and that they would be shielded from the pains of the world for as long as I could manage."

"But I am not a child anymore!"

"No," Percy sighed in defeat as the truth lay before him. "You are not."

"And we are now veritable strangers to one another. I have had to become someone different this past week; I have had to become _something_ different. I am not the same girl that left Blakeney Manor, and you are not the same man either. We are two people who have never truly met."

Cosette didn't even recognise the woman she glimpsed in the mirror on the side cabinet. Turning, all she saw was a blur of blonde hair and faded clothes. That was all she could recognise, to tell her that this was indeed her.

How was he supposed to recognise her if even she couldn't?

"I killed a man!" she exclaimed, the utter distress evident in every inch of her being. Her hands trembled as she raised them aloft, staring at them as if she could still detect lingering traces of the blood that had coated them not too long ago. "I… I killed someone. I felt the knife slide into his chest and the blood… so much blood."

"You did it to survive."

"That doesn't make amends for it! I'm a murderer," she sobbed. Once again he tried to step forward, to reach her, but she only recoiled further back in response.

"Now listen to me," he ordered, making her eyes meet his even if she refused to physically. "Cosette Blakeney. Never be ashamed of it - of defending yourself," he stated calmly and with severity. "We are only human, and to feel remorse is natural. It is also good, for it shows your humanity. You don't take it lightly what you did, but you _had_ to do it. You had to. There was no other way."

"There's always another way! You told me again and again that there's always another way! Another way out!"

"Not always."

"Liar."

"No. Cosette, no," her father pleaded. "I shouldn't have said that as sometimes there isn't another way. There isn't another way, and the hardest thing about being brave is facing up to that - but on your terms. Taking control. That's what you did, and now you get to write the narrative."

"Narrative?" He was speaking to her of narrative as if that could possibly alleviate her agony inside and emotional turmoil. What good was being able to portray this in any positive light? That didn't change the facts.

"Yes," Percy soothed, taking a daring half step closer. At the sight of her no longer trying to immediately withdraw, he took another, trying to bridge the distance between them physically as well as emotionally. "You can choose to let this tear you up inside, destroy your soul and conscience like Chauvelin would want. Or, you can choose to live. To acknowledge the truth but that it also granted you freedom, life - all the things you'd have lost had you been killed in that man's place."

As if she hadn't thought about that. As if those hadn't been the only things holding her upright the past 48 hours or so since it had happened. Still, something about hearing the words aloud… hearing them from another person's lips…

A tidal wave was what hit her as relief, terror and gratitude washed over in one all-consuming rush. No words could express it justly, nor could any action other than the one her father chose right then: sliding his hand in hers, squeezing it tightly, and drawing her close as she crumpled beneath the weight of it all.

"I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry."

He said nothing. He knew there was no need. Nothing he could say would fix this. Not now anyway… Cosette was too much like him for her own good. She could swallow her emotions down at the drop of a hat, trapping them in a gilded cage. But not this time… he couldn't let her. He wouldn't let her.

Cosette allowed him to drape his arm about her waist and cradle her close, just as he had when she was small. There was no place she felt safer than in her parents' embrace. So, he pulled her close and held her to his chest as tears poured forth from her eyes. Her sobs wracked her trembling frame, so small against his athletic build, yet he wrapped her in his arms to shield her.

Small soothing noises escaped his lips as he let them sink onto the bed, and rest there for as long as she damn well needed. He hadn't been there for her this past week or so. He hadn't been there when she had needed him most. That damn well stopped here and now.

He was never leaving her again.

* * *

It must have been an hour they sat there in silence. Cosette could only tell that from the inky sky that now displayed itself proudly through the window beside them. Otherwise, the time had felt meaningless to her. Not now when she finally had unlimited amounts of it to spend again as she so wished.

"I promise," her father croaked, finally breaking the silence, "when we return home, I shall tell you everything you wish to know, from first to last."

He felt rather than saw his daughter's nod as she accepted his offering. His attempt at peace.

"I have never been as truly petrified as I have been this past week," Percy confessed shakily. In truth, it almost sent a horrified shudder through Cosette to hear how vulnerable, and small, her father sounded. He was always so strong, so positive. She did not believe she'd ever been witness to a moment of weakness. Then again, much had changed the past week and much had been revealed.

"I am not saying I truly forgive you yet-"

"-And you don't have to."

She pulled back and sat upright. The look Cosette shot her father silenced him immediately. "What I mean to say is," she warned, "I'm willing to put it behind us for now. As long as we agree from here on out to have no more secrets."

"No more secrets," her father agreed readily, taking her hand in relief. "Come on. By now the others will have managed to start a fire, and I gather some form of supper shall be ready as well. I dare not think how little you have eaten the past few days, and I shall be damned if I let you pass a moment more without a decent meal."

Cosette smiled a little, merely grateful to see her father back to his normal self again. She was also relieved to draw this conversation to a halt for a little while. Even this brief excerpt had sapped any remainder of the strength she had left in her. Besides, the soft scent of something cooking below had wafted its way into the upper level of the house. Her stomach growled expectantly.

"Come," her father offered as if he had heard its desperate cry.

Cosette allowed her father to take her arm, and begin to escort her down the stairs as if it were any other formal dinner. For some reason, though, she felt even more nervous about this entrance than she had during her presentation in London. There was a tension that lingered in the air, so many words unsaid, that it daunted her. How was she supposed to react? How would they be now that their true selves had been exposed?

Cosette gulped.

She had come this far and she would not fail now. Every face in that room was a friend - more than that, they were family. That hadn't changed, and the smiles that greeted her as she entered the room confirmed as much.

In fact, the air couldn't have been any more causal as they dotted themselves about the rickety wooden dining tables. There was no order, or decorum, as they spread about. Stools were dragged over, as were chairs and benches alike. Their only true focus seemed to be on the simmering cooking pot that hung suspended in the fireplace.

It was clear why as the true strength of the delicious smell hit her senses. That and the warmth from the fire made for a suddenly cosy and desperately needed scene of domesticity.

"Ah, there you are, at last," Hastings cheered, noticing their arrival first. "I feared for a moment you'd miss supper. Thank God, as I hadn't the strength to try and refrain Armaund from devouring your helpings as well as his own."

Her uncle looked incredulous as he leant forward in his seat and stared dangerously down the table at his companion. She felt as if there was a story to this.

"I would never have-" he tried, only to be silenced by the bowl that was heaped before him. Andrew had chosen his timing well as he hastily served the broth into bowls, and distributed it. All arguments were silenced in exchange for gratefully emptying the contents instead.

Cosette took her place in the seat nearest, which so happened to be located between Will and Tony. Her father mirrored her, sitting opposite her instead.

Neither had to wait very long as their portions were placed before them.

"Go on, eat." The command was clear even behind her father's charming smile.

"I feel like a child," Cosette whined. Yet, she surrendered to his fussing. She took the bowl and spoon and hungrily dug into the stew. To her surprise, it was actually edible and rather decent tasting. Surprises never ceased. "This is good," she praised.

Clearly, her comment amused her companions.

"Well, now that you are back, and safe, you need not worry about any more atrocious meals."

"Speaking of that…" She paused mid-mouthful, holding the spoon mere millimetres from her lip. "So, how did you find me?"

"It's a long story."

"Most of which," Armaund interjected, "involves us all running throughout Paris like a band of frantic idiots, trying to shake down all of our old contacts for information. None of it very useful, of course."

"So you were running around Paris? Even though Fouché and Chauvelin were looking for you?" Cosette couldn't decide whether she was impressed, or if she should be slapping for them for their ridiculous stupidity. This must have been how her mother had felt all these years. She had no idea how she'd survived it… or Suzanne, or Louise or any of their wives for that matter. A sudden newfound respect for her female relatives surged within her as she swallowed her soup with a little more anger than she had originally intended. "You could have been caught, or killed."

Immediately Hastings smirked at the flicker of concern that flashed across her face. "It was like the old days, running around in disguises. We were careful. This isn't the first operation we've run."

"But hopefully it shall be our last," Tony sighed wearily. "Some of us are getting a little too old for this."

Hastings released an indignant squark. "Speak for yourself, Dewhurst. Some of us are as spritely as ever."

"Now you're being too generous with yourself."

"Children," Andrew warned, shooting them both a teasing glance across the table. "Behave."

With that, the group spluttered into raucous laughter. It was infectious, spreading round the room and lasting deep into the night.

To their credit, they answered every question she put to them in as honest and as frank a manner as they could manage. They also refrained from asking her any questions in reply. Whether or not her father had instructed them such, Cosette was merely grateful for their attempts at distraction.

Eventually, Cosette could hardly keep her eyes open as the hours flickered by. It was as if she feared that by closing them when she opened them again it would all disappear. She would find herself back in that cell, alone again with Chauvelin.

Still, exhaustion eventually began to win out as her body sagged, her head involuntarily drooping to rest against Will's shoulder.

He noticed immediately but said nothing, enjoying the comfort of having her close for even just a few precious moments. Subtly, he tucked his arm behind her back and around her waist, supporting her so she didn't fall headfirst to the floor.

As amusing a sight as that would have been, he had just survived Paris. He meant what he'd said before: he was not willing to ruin that and be murdered by none other than Cosette Blakeney.

He affectionately brushed his thumb against her side, rubbing soothing circles on her hip. Clearly, it worked as eventually, her eyes drooped closed, and her head sagged as sleep claimed her for but a moment. However, as her body relaxed her chin slid, falling off its perch and startling her awake again much to the amusement of everyone watching.

Sleep was definitely calling.

"I think," Armaund began, rising to his feet, "it is time for us all to retire."

"Good idea," Hastings agreed swiftly, rubbing at his eyes. "We shall have an early start ahead of us in the morning, and God knows we deserve to actually sleep."

It seemed that, for the night, they would be sharing, except for Cosette, despite her protests that it was not necessary. Interestingly she was not the only one who frowned at the prospective sleeping arrangements.

Tony immediately sighed as he received the news he was sharing with none other than Armaund for the night.

"Oh no," he groaned. "Seriously? Must I? He snores."

"And you steal the covers," Armaund shot back, narrowing his eyes. "You are not exactly my bedfellow of choice, Dewhurst. Especially not after the last time."

Still, despite their bickering, the two of them disappeared off into the room that had been claimed as theirs for the night. Will was to share with his father, and Percy was to share a room with Hastings. The mere idea of it all was enough to make Cosette laugh at its absurdity. The size of the men alone made for a humorous mental picture. How on earth did they plan to fit into the narrow beds she had seen upstairs?

Wonders never ceased.

Still, seeing was believing. A philosophy she had always abided by, and she chose to do so now, turning and making her own way toward her bedroom. Sleep was a luxury she was eager to indulge in now that she was able to.

She climbed the stairs, loitering by her door as she finally reached the top. Her feet halted as she lingered, listening to the faint sounds of doors closing, beds creaking, and voices murmuring through the walls.

Even in the darkness, she felt safe. She felt whole.

So consumed with her thoughts, she hadn't heard her father's approach behind him. She was almost unaware he was there at all until she heard the floorboard creak beside her, followed by a tender, "Are you sure you will be alright?"

"Absolutely," she replied quickly. Her head turned, making sure her father could see she meant it, even in the dim glow of candlelight. Her hand reached for his. No matter what had passed between them, his grip felt the same. He was the same - the same father and man she had always known. "It's merely been a long day."

Percy folded her in his arms and kissed the top of her head out of habit. Some things hadn't changed so completely after all.

"I know. You need sleep, ma dear."

"As do you."

She felt him chuckle. She'd turned into her mother, especially as her father shook his head in that same amused gratitude he always showed her. He always looked as if he was surprised someone could care about him or show genuine concern. But, in true Blakeney style, he brushed it aside. "I'll see you in the morning."

"See you in the morning."

The last thing she remembered as her eyes closed that night was the gentle sensation of her father's lips pressed against her forehead, and the touch of his hand cradling hers.


	18. Chapter 17

_**Good evening everybody.**_ _ **Hope you're all well and surviving the summer heat. Apologies, I was going to post this yesterday but I got sidetracked so I've only just had a chance to finish editing it - either way, I hope you enjoy it. As always, feel free to review, follow, drop me a message or whatever. I can always see the numbers reading my stories but I love hearing directly from you wonderful readers. It really means the world to me, especially in a community as small as The Scarlet Pimpernel fandom. It's great to hear from other fans out there who don't think I'm crazy for spending hours each week bashing out chapters to do with a centuries-old fictional character x Anyway... enjoy the drama ;)**_

 _ **Thesilentmage x**_

* * *

Marguerite was worried.

It had been a long week, made longer by the absence of word of any kind. Of course, she knew Percy would have sent something if he was able and that no word meant he was busy… Still, it didn't help the constant ache that had settled in her chest.

There was something about the feeling of uneasiness in her heart that kept her awake. It was an oddly familiar feeling, one she had experienced many times when Percy or Armaund was away on business. Unfortunately, the feeling always seemed to come just as something went wrong far away… so far away that she was helpless to do anything to stop it.

That was always the worst part in all this, in all her years by Percy's side: the helplessness. So often she had fought against it, finding some way to help keep her family and friends safe, but it wasn't always possible. Now, for instance, she had Thomas to take care of. As much as she would have done anything to fly to Paris now, how could she abandon him?

Her eyes drifted to the boy sleeping on her lap. He looked so peaceful, with his eyes closed and his chest rising and falling steadily.

Her hand gently caressed the blonde locks upon his head, and she fought the urge to cry. Motherhood was a sacred charge, one she sometimes felt unworthy of. She was supposed to keep her children safe.

It was why she hated the idea of sending him away to school as he grew older. Stuff tradition, how could they expect her to surrender her most precious of belongings? For the past week, he had all but been at her side every moment of the day. It was as if he was afraid she would vanish off into the night should he turn his back for even a moment like the rest of his family had appeared to do so.

What she'd have given to explain everything right then… but this wasn't the time, not when Percy was not here to assist with that particular conversation. Their world was being torn apart, but she would be damned if she let Chauvelin tear it all down before her very eyes.

She was still in control. They were the Blakeneys' after all, and they had survived trial after trial. They would not fail now. She had faith. They would succeed, and all would be well again.

* * *

Sleep wasn't easy for Cosette.

Yet, somehow, sleep she did, resting exactly where her father had left her. She eventually awoke late the next day, wincing in pain. Indeed, she felt marginally better after another night's rest, a decent meal, and her father's limited medical skills. As it was the soft bandages wrapped around her felt secure, and she felt less likely to fall apart.

With a soft sigh, Cosette sat upright and rubbed at her eyes. She was alone in the room and she took a moment to examine the small space. There was something sobering about the place in daylight, far more so than it had been the night before. Then again, she had been rather too preoccupied to really notice the conditions of the farmhouse. It had certainly been a rather extraordinary night.

Had it even really happened?

Cosette almost doubted it as she gingerly sat up and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. She took a deep breath and rose unsteadily to her feet. The ache and fatigue she had felt last night were just as strong, if not more so as she stared down at her bruised and bandaged flesh.

A small positive was the fact she felt a little more like herself. Being here, surrounded by those she loved, had effectively taken a weight from her shoulders. The knowledge was potent enough to fuel herself as she staggered over to the corner of the room, where a small looking glass sat atop a set of draws.

After straightening her gown and combing her hair with her fingers, before tying it back with her worn ribbon, Cosette left the room. Far more presentable than before, it was almost as if nothing had changed. Descending the stairs to the wondrous smell of cooking was like being back at Blakeney Manor. All that was missing was her mother, brother, and Shivers standing proudly in the hallway. Instead, she was met with a bleary-eyed Tony as he emerged from one of the rooms below.

He yawned theatrically as he looked up and noticed her arrival. He looked as if he had not got a wink of sleep. The same went for the others she realised, as Cosette appeared in the doorway, and stared at the company sat around the kitchen table in various states of consciousness. No one looked like as if they had found it to be a peaceful night. She wondered if they'd even gone to bed at all. Knowing them as intimately as she did, she highly doubted it. Back at home, they could easily pass a night talking and playing cards in the drawing-room.

It was why there was something almost alarming at the transformation, to see them all so informal and childish together when she knew their usual decorum and propriety. What was more alarming in Cosette's eyes, however, was the sight in the middle of the room.

It had become startling clear the last week that Cosette was not acquainted with her father's true self or his history. Yet, standing there, watching as he sat by the fire tending to what seemed to be several simmering pans with extreme care, she felt as if she were in some dream.

Her father, Sir Percy Blakeney, was cooking breakfast?

"You cook?" The question had escaped her lips, signifying her arrival, before Cosette had even realised it. "I do not think I have ever seen you cook before?"

"Good morning to you too, my dear." Her father let out a loud laugh. He glanced over to her as he stood, taking one of the pans with him and placing it down on the table. "It is one of my lesser required skills I am afraid," he chuckled. "Yet, every man should at least be able to cook for himself. I do find it most useful when in a pinch."

"And do they find it useful?" Cosette teased, glancing at the other men in the room. "You drag them into danger only to threaten them with your culinary skills too? How unchivalrous."

The ripple of laughter was unanimous, as were the teasing comments that followed it. Cosette only briefly caught them as she sat at the table, hastily helping herself to the food that sat waiting. Still, she swore she heard Tony murmur something about food poisoning and an uncooked rabbit once. He was only joined as Armaund added something about not forgetting the burnt fish as well.

Well, that was a tale for another time. One of many she was sure she would be hearing once they returned back to the comfort and safety of Blakeney Manor. Now was hardly the time or place, not when she was finding it hard enough to focus as it was. Sat there, beside Will, who looked as equally chipper as the others in the morning light, only made it worse.

His smile was awfully distracting as were the thoughts and feelings it sparked inside of her. What she would have given for them to be alone again and back in that dreadful inn bedroom. At least then she could have kissed him again like she wanted to.

Instead, considering their company, their private smiles or accidental brushes of hands and feet would have to suffice.

"Did you sleep well?"

Cosette nodded, passing him the water jug with a mischievous grin. "I did. It may not have been as grand as my bed at home but I swear the moment my head hit that pillow I was gone."

"I'm glad. I would have been the same had my father been less of a sheet-stealer."

Cosette couldn't help but snigger as she lifted the cup to her lips, conscious of the eyes that turned in response towards them. She did her best to school her expression back to normal, but it was near impossible when she was imaging Andrew wrapped in the sheets whilst Will froze grumpily beside him. "You were more than welcome to share my bed as I know for a fact neither of us snores or fidget. As I said back at the inn, I'm not scared of the League or of propriety. I'd hardly call this a proper situation anyway. What's wrong with a little more deviousness?"

There was mischief in his eyes as he leant closer, his voice a mere soft growl. "As much as I am sorely tempted by that offer if you say that much louder your father will be taking me out back and gutting me like the rabbit that's currently roasting over there."

"He wouldn't dare," Cosette smirked, turning her attention toward the said rabbit. "Not when he knows I'd hit him with that frying pan before he even got close."

It was Will's turn to snort, choking on his drink as he shook his head and looked at her with sheer admiration. "I feel safer already, my valiant saviour," he teased. "And for what it may -or may not - be worth, I'm proud of you and how you handled everything yesterday. I know it can't have been easy - any of it, let alone considering how many questions you must have. I too almost started an inquisition down here but considering how outnumbered I was, I decided against it."

"Probably for the best," she conceded as her expression darkened. "But you'll have my full support in interrogating every last person in this room once we get home. We've had enough of secrets to last a lifetime. We're a team and I'll be damned if I let them cut us out again in the future."

They really were a team, Cosette realised as she turned her attention from just Will and to the other members of the room. Together, it was then decided that they would all ride and make their way to Calais, some few hours ride away, and wait till the tide turned.

Tony and Hastings were to ride on ahead to alert the crew of the Daydream to come to shore and to prepare for setting sail. The rest would follow behind shortly after Cosette was allowed a little more time to rest.

As much as she protested it was not necessary, her pleas were to no avail. They would not hear of it. Apparently, their fussing had only just begun and after their treatment of her last night, Cosette knew it would be a long time until they stopped.

So, she allowed them their motherly behaviour and bid Hastings and Tony farewell as they rode out into the early morning light. She had pressed a kiss to either man's cheek and held them close for luck. An odd notion considering they would be reunited in only a few hours and in far pleasanter conditions than their current ones. Still, Cosette would not be truly at ease until they were all firmly back on British soil, of that she was certain.

At least she could tell the feeling of apprehension was mutual as everyone else returned to breakfast and to finishing any remaining duties before their trip later. Cosette was forbidden from helping as she was confined to her room to rest, whilst the others hurried about below. Bags were packed, horses were fed and saddled, and plates cleaned of all remaining scraps.

Finally, she was released from her captivity, and allowed to descend downstairs to join the others. Cosette almost flew as she eagerly did so, grabbing her coat from where had cast it over the back of a chair and pulling it on.

As soon as she stepped out of the door she felt the early morning chill. It was hanging in the air, along with the fine morning mist. Had she not the tattered coat over her shoulders Cosette would have shivered. Instead, she smiled, inhaling it with an inner sense of peace flooding over her. For, how could she not feel so?

As sunlight flooded the countryside as far as the eye could see, Cosette knew they'd be riding out into it, never to return to this forsaken place ever again. That, and that thought alone, made her feel weightless as she hurried across the dewy grass and back to her horse, who was patiently waiting for her.

It was a somewhat pleasant ride that morning. The view was fine, and the procession made good time as they hurried along the quiet country roads. Despite their number, they met no patrols, nor encountered any trouble. Their journey was so fortunate that they surprised expectations and arrived with time to spare, passing the sign for Calais's port as the sun was nearing the middle of the sky.

Cosette had not been able to see Calais the last time she had travelled through it but now her eyes savoured every second. For a seaport, the place had the vibrancy of a Parisian market square with the hurrying throngs of people darting to and fro with nets, wares of all kinds and crates that smelt of spices.

Needless to say, their motley, eclectic group was perfectly suited to their surroundings. No one gave them a second glance as they trotted their way down the road before dismounting at the mouth of a side street. They were perfectly out of sight as they tethered their horses around the corner, masked by the side of a large barn-like building.

From there, they followed in a tight pack as Percy and Andrew lead the way through the streets and alleyways as if they had been walking them their whole life. Deep down Cosette knew that wasn't outside the realms of probability.

"Where are we going again?" Will asked, eyeing the alleyway with a look that was equal parts suspicious and curious. "Are Hastings and Tony meeting us here or onboard?"

"Here," Andrew replied chipperly, "unless they decided to take a detour along the way."

"I wouldn't put it past them," Armaund chuckled. "Remember the time they were late to a drop off because they were distracted by two rather beautiful washerwomen?"

Cosette could tell immediately this had been before Tony had married his wife, though the thought of such a time seemed mind-blowing to her.

"How could I forget?" Andrew sniggered in reply. "I'll never forget their faces when you noticed the rouge marks on their cheeks. I thought they were going to combust with shame there and then."

"I know I almost did."

Laughter fluttered amongst them, filling the nervous tension in the air as the party made their way toward the door ahead and the awaiting offices beyond. A now-abandoned docking office, the location was ideal for their rendezvous.

Still, there was something about the place that rendered the group silent. No one dared say a word or even breathe as they opened the rickety wooden door and stepped over the threshold. The smell of damp and must was overwhelming as the pungent odour filled the room.

No one had been here for a long time. Longer than possibly her father had suggested considering the amount of dust and disrepair about the space.

Yet, the most harrowing thing Cosette noticed was the very distinct absence of the two men they'd come to seek. She wasn't the only one to notice their truancy as she watched the others around her stiffen, their faces darkening in confusion.

The silence was only worsened as the creak of the door was amplified through the empty space. There didn't appear to be a living soul inside the offices.

"Tony?" Percy called out as if expecting them to be concealed somewhere. "Hastings?"

There was no reply.

Cosette gulped. "Where are they?"

The question was far more ominous than it should have been under normal circumstances.

Will obviously felt similarly; his face whitened considerably. He turned. "Maybe they are running late? Or we perhaps arrived too soon?"

"Impossible," his father sighed weakly. "I have a bad feeling about this."

"Perhaps we should wait on the DayDream, where it's safer? Then we can discuss finding the others."

"We can not leave them behind," Percy interjected, though there was a hesitancy in his voice that betrayed him. He knew something was wrong. Very wrong.

Cosette could feel it in her bones long before her uncle chose to confirm it.

A cry of alarm behind her startled her from such thoughts. "Uncle Armaund?" she gasped, recognising the person responsible for the sound. Her eyes widened as she watched as he held his fingers up to the sunlight. "What is it?"

For a moment she had thought he had hurt himself but a sickening sensation filled her chest as she glanced over. His fingers were coated in blood.

"Is that…" She could not even finish the sentence. She knew it wasn't his. "Oh, God."

That was the trigger. Percy had hardly drawn breath when Armaund spun on his heel, eyes wide, and gasped, "We need to leave this place. Now."

But it wasn't to be.

A thundering surrounded them, like the sound of boots on cobblestone. A bang, followed by a creak, accompanied the ill-fated symphony as the door behind them was forced open.

"You do realise Sir Percy that it is rude to leave without saying goodbye?"

They turned around in horror.

Immediately Cosette found herself being blocked by a wall of people, particularly as Percy jumped up, shielding her from their view in some instinctive protective gesture. She gasped and stumbled backwards slightly in surprise.

The only comfort was from the feeling of Will's hand clutching hers, so tight it was as if he feared she would be dragged from his side as a patrol of soldiers filled the already cramped room, accompanied by none other than Fouché himself.

It was then she felt as if the floor had dropped from beneath her.

As long as she lived she had prayed never to see that wicked face again, constantly morphed into a smug and animalistic snarl. The only relief she had as he entered the room was that she couldn't see either Chauvelin or Fumier with him. They must have stayed behind in Paris - the only mercy in this awful mess.

As if they could have been so lucky… as if they could have left France now that they were so close.

Fouché apparently could sense her bitter disappointment as he smiled directly at her, gesturing behind him to the guards that surrounded him. "Thankfully for me, your men here were kind enough to inform me of your imminent departure. Had they not been seen walking about we might have missed each other," he purred. "And what a tragedy that would have been, Sir Percy."

Before any of them had even had time to react the guards moved, pushing their way into the room and dragging two figures with them as they did so.

The two figures weren't hard to identify. In fact, Cosette had to swallow a cry of agony as she recognised the beaten men. Fear like she had never known entered her heart as the men dragged them forth, gagged and bound, with their pistols aimed directly at their heads.

Tony.

Hastings.

Hate flooded through her, so violently she had no control over it, no song in her heart but a war-cry. Cosette was going to kill Fouché. Cosette was going to kill all of them.

"Don't look surprised. It doesn't become men like us - you didn't actually think I'd let you leave that easily? No no no, dear Percy," he chuckled maliciously, shaking his head. Fouché looked almost elated.

Armaund and Andrew's hands leapt to their swords instantly, but they were stopped by the sight of the many soldiers and their rifles, pointed directly at them. It was one thing to have death stare you in the face, but a whole other thing to watch those you care about threatened.

"You know what I want, Sir Percy."

"How did I guess you would be gracing us with your presence again? You're like some leech Fouché," he snapped back. "I shook you off before and if you know me at all you will know that I ain't coming with you."

Andrew nodded and stepped forward if to prove the point. Cosette glanced around, the square outside had pretty much emptied of all people by now, and few remained to watch through the doorway.

The panic rose in her throat, choking the breath from her lungs.

"Where Percy goes, we go."

"Well," Fouché bit back, staring at Andrew with derision. "Unfortunately, as much as I am sure the guillotine would appreciate you all, I fear I only have time and space for your leader. Surrender yourself, Sir Percy, and your men are free to go."

As if to prove the point he nodded at the guards nearest, who released their grip on Tony and Hastings. With a sharp shove, they sent them staggering towards the others. Thankfully, the others surged forward to catch them, hauling them safely into the midst of their pack.

"No," Cosette shouted angrily pushing past Will and Percy. They all reached for her, but she couldn't be stopped as she looked directly into his soulless eyes. She knew why he offered what he did, knowing the only way her father would sacrifice himself willingly would be in the service of others. But somehow she prayed there was more to it, something he wanted more than her father's head on an executioners block. "Please," she begged. "Please, I will do anything, I will give you anything."

Fouché grinned. He clearly revelled in her desperation, just as he had when he had last had her at his mercy back at the ministry. Apparently, it was just as sweet a sensation now as it had been then as he lingered, savouring every second as long as he could. "Dear Lady Blakeney," he drawled, reaching forward to stroke her cheek. If he was waiting for her to flinch though then he was sorely disappointed. "How good to see you again. I had rather missed your charming company, as has our friend Chauvelin. Our last meeting was all too brief."

Cosette looked at him with venom in her eyes. "I can't say you were good company, rather too dull for me."

"Maybe so, but trust me, I will rather enjoy breaking your father - an even sweeter prize," Fouché grinned wickedly, leaning in close enough that his nose almost touched hers. "Watching as the fire dies in his eyes, and all he remembers is the daughter that was responsible for his rather painful and shameful death-"

Fouché was cut off as Cosette suddenly leapt forward, her fist prepared to strike him. As much as they wanted to see her make him bleed, the men behind her had little choice but to grab her and restrain her. Andrew had his arms around her, holding her in his grip before she could provoke a response that would lead to none of them walking out this office alive.

Beside her, Percy merely smiled at her and squeezed her hand. Cosette was so concerned with what was happening that she hardly noticed as the weighty object that slid from his palm to hers.

"That wasn't very ladylike," Fouché spat. "Now I can see why Fumier is so set on revenge against you. You did rather leave him in a state."

"Tit for tat," she snarled, smirking as she felt the others' raise their eyebrows and stare at her in surprise. She had yet to share that particular tale. "We Blakeneys' don't start fights but we sure as hell finish them."

Fouché scoffed but she saw the pride glistening in her father's eyes, as well as the men she had around her. It felt as if she had swapped places with her mother, her French fire burning deep within. Now was as good a time as any to find her mother's courage - the same courage she had gifted her, flowing in her veins.

Percy sighed, his eyes dancing from her face to Foché as if making some silent agreement with himself. "How did you find us?"

"Easily," Fouché boasted smugly, eyes turning to the murky window across from them. "I had eyes looking for English vessels that would arrive when you were scheduled to. Many of my informants reported back, and well, it was only a logical guess that the vessel seen in these waters was yours. The Day Dream has become notorious."

"I'm flattered."

"So you should be," Fouché smirked, leaning back against the wall. "After your miraculous escape back in Paris, I headed here to intercept you. As good as your men were, Sir Percy, they were not hard to find. You of all people know how small these coastal towns are. New faces are hard to miss."

"True," he conceded.

"But enough of that. We can continue this tete a tete on the road back to Paris. After all, you have one minute before I order my guards here to shoot your friends and seize you anyway…What's it to be Sir Percy?"

Percy looked back and forth between his friends, confusion evident in his eyes. He counted the guards, immediately and desperately trying to start forming some sort of escape plan; but despite his efforts, he knew they were outnumbered by at least two to one, and unlike normal, Cosette was amongst those in danger.

What kind of father and friend would he be if he allowed those he cared most about to suffer for his actions?

At last, he found the answer to his dilemma.

"Fine Fouché," he conceded grimly. "You win. I'll come."

"Very good Sir Percy, I'm glad at least one of you has some sense," Fouché smiled smugly, gesturing to the guards beside him. "Guards," he snapped.

Almost instantly a man stepped forward, cuffs prepared to imprison those extravagant lace wrists in their rustic and cruel embrace.

"Percy!" snapped Andrew almost in disbelief. What did he think he was doing?

"My dear Andrew," he began calmly, the very image of a leader addressing his troops. "I must assure you that I am perfectly alright and will be going away for a little while. I must ask if you'd be so good as to keep an eye on things for me."

"What?" snapped Tony, finally freed of his bonds and trying his best to stand unaided. Andrew gaped on in silence. "Are you serious?"

Hastings also looked around, his swollen eye full of rage. "Percy?"

"Please… do as I ask. Go from here and never come back," he explained smoothly. "You must all make your way back to your families in one piece. I swore that to them, and to you. I have never been a man to break an oath and I don't intend on doing so now."

Cosette shook her head. It was as if the whole world had frozen around her. "No… no," she choked, eyes wide in disbelief. She felt suddenly all too helpless. Her hand reached for her father's and refused to let go. "I won't leave you, not that I found you again."

"Alas my dear, you must," Sir Percy replied firmly. "For me."

"No."

"I must advise you follow dear Sir Percy's instructions," Fouché growled. "Otherwise I shall be forced to-"

"Try anything and I will personally kill you," Armaund snarled, stepping forward a step, his hand reaching to the pistol at his side as if to prove his point. Percy clearly wasn't the only one willing to risk his life to ensure the others made it out of here alive.

Fouché laughed. He clearly was not in the least concerned by their threats. "Well, I would love to stay and continue this parle but, as the English say, time flies when you're having fun. Besides, there are many people back in Paris who will be more than delighted to meet you, Pimpernel."

Will grabbed Cosette's hand and pulled her backwards, just as Percy began to be dragged away. She struggled violently, as the league stood and watched, except for Tony who also had to be restrained by Armaund, to stop him from darting out into the brigade and most likely being killed.

A few moments passed as the horses disappeared and left the gang stranded. Looks of horror were amongst the numerous expressions.

"What now?" whispered Hastings.

"I don't know," replied Andrew. "I honestly don't know."

Cosette didn't either as she felt the world around her swaying in utter horror. She clenched her fists tightly, closing her eyes as she tried to blink away the image of her father being dragged away from her. However, it lingered behind her eyelids like a bad stain.

It was only as she clenched her fists though that she felt it. Felt the cold bite of what her father had passed to her in all the commotion.

Cosette stared at her open palm and felt her heart drop. Her father's ring - he'd given it to her. She gasped as she reached for the band and twisted the gem on top to reveal the flower etched on the underside.

Then it made sense. The others may not have known what to do, but she knew exactly what needed to happen next.

She was going to save The Pimpernel.


	19. Chapter 18

To say The League felt defeated would have been an understatement. Ever since they'd arrived back at their farmhouse, no one had said anything.

Andrew had tried, rather unsuccessfully at first, to usher Cosette into sleeping. It was obvious she was exhausted and close to collapsing. Hastings seemed no better off but chose to open an old bottle of brandy that he had found in the back of the room and proceeded to empty it into a dusty glass.

As soon as Hastings had opened the bottle, Armaund had proceeded to hand both Cosette and Will a glass of brandy. A tall glass.

Seated in a rickety chair Will drank his in one gulp.

Cosette took vigil, sitting crossed leg on the window frame, her head resting against the pane. She took a sip, shuddered at the taste, and made to set it down on the low-lying table between them.

"Keep drinking," Armaund ordered. The wrath wasn't toward her. No—it was toward the men who had outsmarted them all. At what had happened back at the crossroads. The sentiment seemed to be shared by everyone in the room.

"Are you hurt?" Andrew asked Tony. Each word was clipped—brutal.

He shook his head. "A little worse for wear."

The dried blood trailing down his cheek clearly stated otherwise, but no one appeared willing to challenge him. Cosette did look as if she wanted to dispute the answer but closed her lips wisely.

As it was Hastings was helping himself to a healthy dose of brandy, soaking his handkerchief in the liquid as he held it to the numerous gashes and bruises coating the side of his face. A mere hiss passed his lips but that was all. These men truly were warriors.

It made Cosette shudder. Her eyes could not bear to witness the sight as she chose instead to focus on the flickering flame of the candle beside her. Watching the way it cast shadows upon her was far more tolerable than watching the heartbreaking scene instead.

Her eyes looked around curiously at the place they had left not so long ago, abundant with optimism and success. Like the sunlight, it had dwindled to leave them with nothing but emptiness instead.

"We'll pull through, Ffoulkes," Hastings answered, shaking her from her misery filled stupor. "Stop your fussing, you mother hen."

"Well, forgive me if I'm the only one preoccupied with trying to establish where exactly we stand in all this."

"We're all in one piece, Andrew. Rejoice in that if nothing else for just a minute."

Clearly, that was not the thing to say. "Rejoice?" Andrew snapped, whirling on Hastings with his eyes bulging. "There's nothing to rejoice about here, Timothy. We were outsmarted and now Percy-"

"We're all well aware of Percy's current condition," Armaund soothed, obviously more than familiar with such spats. The rare use of Hastings first name was enough of a clue to the rising tension in the room. Still, his expression was soft if not also darkened as he strode between both men as if to form a physical barrier between their tempers. The room was too small to let it turn into an all-out brawl. "Turning on one another is not going to assist us, nor him, in any way possible. Hastings is right in that we should be grateful to all be in one piece. We all know Fouché could have easily taken his moment today and killed anyone of - if not all of - us."

The thought was a sobering one. The whole room fell silent as the weight of it settled on all their shoulders. Cosette's mind filled with blood-soaked images, punctuated with agonised faces of those she loved dearest… it stole her breath from her.

It also stole it from the others, as Andrew's eyes whirled towards Will. There was indescribable anguish in them as he gazed protectively toward his son. Cosette was not the only one with family at risk in this mad venture. That harrowing thought was enough to send her heart plummeting as she felt something inside of her snap.

She shot to her feet, leaping off the window ledge and slamming her now empty glass down on the table with enough force to make the room startle.

"Dear God," she vented, "I can't just sit here when he is going through unimaginable tortures and I just let them take him."

"No. Cosette, you cannot honestly think that?"

"Why not? It's true. I just stood by and let them take him."

Andrew shook his head and stepped towards her. She watched as he laid a comforting hand upon her shoulder, and dropped his eyes to meet hers.

"To have done anything else would have surely gotten you killed, and to your father, you mean everything- to us you mean everything; and we swore to your father we'd protect you, so trust me now when I say we will do our best to get him back."

"Andrew," she sighed as if preparing to argue. However, she fell silent at one look from his anguished eyes. Instead, she allowed him to wrap his comforting arms around her, as he had done some many times before. Cosette buried her head in his shoulder sadly. He felt familiar and safe and now as she stood in his embrace she found a new sense of courage. "I know we'll find him. My father's trusted you many times, and I trust all of you too."

Andrew nodded. "See? You're not alone, Cosette."

"I know," she sighed, releasing her grip on him. She paused for a long minute before she finally glanced back up at him again. "That's why we need to go to Paris. Tonight."

It was so simple a declaration she had made, yet it was as if she had declared the end of days the way everyone in the room seemed to startle. As it was Hastings choked on his drink, struggling to regain his composure as he processed the words.

"I beg your pardon?"

"We need to leave for Paris, tonight," Cosette continued smoothly, turning so that her eyes could lock directly with his. "If we hurry now we can make it to the city and only be a few hours behind Fouché. He will still have the advantage, but that should give us the ability to work out his plans for my father and stop them."

"But Paris?" Tony repeated, slowly rising from his seat to face her. "It is too dangerous."

"And when has that ever stopped you all before?"

The accusation lingered in the air.

Tony looked like he was going to be sick. Armaund wordlessly refilled his glass and pushed it back into his grip.

"But… Fouché and Chauvelin will be expecting us to do something like that," Hastings protested weakly, blanching at the very thought of returning to Paris so soon again. His already battered-looking face looked positively dire. "It would be suicidal if not completely ridiculous."

"Well, then how else do you propose to rescue him?" Cosette retorted sarcastically. "Last I checked to rescue someone we need to actually be in the same city. Unless you have some remote network you have all yet to share with me?"

"Well… I mean, we do know some people. Perhaps we could-"

"And how long would that take?"

Hastings fell silent as a guilty expression flickered across his face. He downed his drink at the realisation they didn't have enough time to rally their troops and allies. In that, Cosette was absolutely right. If they were going to rescue Percy or stand any chance of defeating Chauvelin and Fouché then it was down to the very men and women in this room. They were not alone in that they had one another to lean upon. Percy, however, had no one.

No one else was coming. Not this time, and not in time enough to prevent whatever Fouché had inevitably planned.

"We'll get him back," Hastings rasped from where he perched on the rolled arm of the chaise lounge across the small sitting area, watching her carefully.

Armaund lowered his hands, lifting his head. The expression on his face said it all. "No, you will not." He pointed to the map on the table. "Am I the only one who knows the forces Fouché still has at his disposal? Its size, who is in it? We saw it, and there is no chance of any of you getting into its heart. Even us," he added when Hastings opened his mouth again. "Especially not when you and Tony are injured."

"We can walk, talk and shoot, Armaund," Tony retorted. "What more do you need?"

Armaund gaped as if he couldn't believe they were even entertaining this idea. "I love Percy as much as any of you, but if you think he would want us to get ourselves killed with no plan and just a merry wish then you're wrong."

"We've had less in the past and still made it out before."

"That was different. I repeat, Tony," Armaund snapped, turning his gaze on the defiant looking man. Despite his wounds, he knew Tony could still easily knock him down if he wanted to - and by the look on his face, he was growing more inclined with every minute. "We didn't have two wounded and two children in our number. That leaves just Ffoulkes and me to play the role of rescuers."

"Sorry, who exactly said we were to be excluded?" Will interjected suddenly. "Cosette and I have as much right to be there as you."

From the shadows, Cosette said, as if in answer to some unspoken debate, "I'm getting him back."

Andrew slid his gaze toward her. "Then you will die."

Cosette only repeated rage glazing that stare, "I'm getting him back."

"Our priority needs to be sending you and William home before we even consider the possibility of returning to aid Percy."

"Father," Will protested, but to no avail. "Do we not get a say in this matter?"

"No. I am your father and what I say goes."

"Yet, I have the ring," Cosette breathed, trying to build her sense of authority with every word. She slammed down the gold band she had been toying with discreetly onto the table as if to prove her point. As it was, she saw their expressions all morph into a mixture of disbelief and admiration at Percy's obvious gesture. The man would never have parted with so precious a gift unless it was for a reason - a reason they could all sense lurking in the air like a foul odour. There really was no way to escape it or what it meant for each and every one of them. "I am a Blakeney, and I may not have known about the league before but I'll be damned if I let it fall apart because of me. My father has lead you for many years, time and time again into danger and back. Why? Because he knew it was the right thing to do, to stand up and fight against tyranny and chaos. How many innocent souls have you managed to save? How many people owe their lives to you, all of you?"

No one seemed to even breathe as she stared at them all in turn.

"This … all of this - his legacy… it is also mine. It's yours! What good is allowing it to be taken from us? Since when have the men in this room been coward enough to let an innocent man, a great man, die? He is your friend, your leader, your family! Does that mean nothing to you?"

"Percy means everything to us," Andrew snapped back sharply. His hurt was clear at her implication. However, the fact he had now chosen to stand by his only ally in this argument - Armaund - suggested his result was wavering. "This isn't about emotions and not wanting to help. I do, more than anything, but I can't see how we would make it in and out of Paris alive in one piece."

"So you won't even try?"

Andrew fell silent.

"This ring is a sign. It's your marching orders. It's down to all of you if you chose to be gentlemen of your word and accept your sworn duties as members of this league." Cosette could almost feel her father there with her. It was odd, but she could swear she felt his strength flowing through her as she slid the ring back on her finger. His courage, the courage he had given her, was all she had left to draw upon as she lifted her chin and stared at every single one of them with resolve and a will of steel… She appeared before them now as an equal, not a child. "My father clearly wanted to give you a choice, to remind you of your cause. Will you help me?"

A heavy silence filled the air as Cosette waited for a reply - any reply. Her eyes hardly dared to move, scanning the faces of all around the table. For a terrible aeon, she feared she would get no response.

"We've always been partners, and that doesn't end now," Will declared reassuringly, the first to join her depleted ranks. She felt it as he came to stand by her, his hand taking her own and filling her with such a sense of immense relief that it almost left her breathless. "You can count me in."

"Me too," Tony replied, stepping forward. His face was so composed that he almost seemed reminiscent of a soldier, falling into line. It indeed felt that way too, especially as Hastings and Armaund both also eventually declared their services and joined him a moment later.

That left only one man remaining as Cosette turned to gaze at him questioningly. "And you, Andrew? What say you?"

Deep down she knew she didn't have to ask. The sight of the brave men around her was enough to make it abundantly clear they were going to Paris with or without him. Andrew Ffoulkes had always been a man renowned for his loyalty and courage. If they were to march into Hell then there was no way he'd allow them to do so alone.

"You can count me in, too," Andrew nodded, surrendering his fight. They had a more important one to turn their focus to now and it didn't involve staying in this ramshackle farmhouse squabbling like schoolboys.

Cosette grinned. "Then we better hurry. We're heading back to Paris."

* * *

True to Cosette's calculations, the ride was hard and brutal but they had managed to reach the city in a few hours. Fortunately, their arrival was still masked by the dwindling darkness, even as dawn began to emerge on the horizon.

The house in Paris was not what she had expected. So this was where her father had hidden? It didn't seem like his ideal home abroad, but then again what did she know? Up until a few days ago, she hadn't even known who he was. Still, it made one thing clearer than ever - even the house had its role to play in her father's elaborate charade.

Just as they did. Every single soul in this room, and those many others she knew remained on English soil anxiously awaiting the return of their faithful leader… she was now amongst them.

The house itself was grand enough in style and size to fulfil her father's tastes, but the state of disuse and disrepair were not. It was as if the place had been allowed to intentionally fall into the disguise of an abandoned home of the ex-aristocracy, with dust sheets, shattered windows and a thick layer of dust coating as far as the eye could see. There was also a noticeable lack of staff about the place.

A weak smile flickered on Cosette's lips as she imagined the horror-stricken expression Shivers would have worn should he have been allowed to witness the squalor his master inhabited. That man ran Blakeney Manor with all the precision of a general.

It was oddly spacious for their needs. Maybe that was why they had all chosen to sleep together in the main lounge, sprawled across rugs, couches and other furniture. Or perhaps, as Cosette suspected, they were all too nervous about letting each other leave their sights. All-day they had been out in teams scavenging news, working out if this mad scheme could even work.

They were a brotherhood in every way and that didn't end today.

"Had I known my father owned such property in Paris I would have made him bring us here," she whispered, eyeing the remnants of finery dotted about her. "A little attention and this place would be restored to its former glory."

"I somehow doubt that would have been your father's wishes," Hastings quipped as he walked past her, blanket in hand. "This place has served us well in the past, but it is not my ideal choice for a leisure venue."

"Or mine," Tony chirped, smiling up at the pair of them from where he lay, sprawled nearest the fireplace on what looked like a pile of several cushions. His smile dwindled as Hastings settled down beside him, stealing one of his many pillows for his head to rest upon. "Excuse me-"

Hastings hardly batted an eyelid, choosing to roll over away from him. "Yes?"

Cosette couldn't help the laugh that escaped her lips. Children. They were utter children. Sprawled about the place, they might as well have been. They looked as if they had become infants, sneaking to rest in their friend's nursery against the wishes of their nannies and governesses.

"Never mind," Tony grumbled, settling back down and adjusting the pistol he had wedged beneath the pillow. "Just sleep with one eye open, Hastings."

It went without saying that they would all do so anyway, despite Tony's jovial threats.

"I'll be amazed if you manage to sleep anyway in this room. Did you not feel the urge to dust when you were here last?" Cosette teased, eyeing the couch with considerable suspicion. However, exhaustion clearly won out as she dared to drop onto the dusty cushions. "Or tidy, for that matter?"

Andrew sighed, looking up from across the room. His expression was bright as he gazed at her over the edge of the map he had been reading for some time now. A quiet calm had fallen over him since their arrival and it was almost clear how the cogs inside his brain were turning as he took in every detail, every minute possible outcome they would face tomorrow. "Apologies. We were a little occupied trying to rescue you."

"I'm honoured."

"So you should be," Will quipped, "You should have seen the state of the divan I had to sleep on. The thing was practically threadbare."

"Poor, poor, William," she purred, watching as he settled on the floor beside her, his body lying at the foot of her makeshift bed like some kind of guard dog, barricading the distance between her and the doors across the room.

"If you two are quite finished," Tony groaned. "The beating Fouché gave me was less painful than this."

Cosette laughed again. The poor man deserved a lengthy absence in the country once this venture was over. His poor wits were practically at the end of their tether. In fact, they all deserved such a break considering the hardships they had endured, and the lengths they had gone to.

All-day they had been at work, planning, gathering, debating. It was only now as darkness settled that they finally allowed themselves to rest… or at least try to.

A bang told everyone that resting was a goal that would have to wait a moment longer as their eyes flew to the doorway. Everyone sat up as they watched the doors swing open, revealing the last of their party.

"It is as we feared," Armaund cursed, barging his way into the room. He only stopped long enough to draw the sizeable bolt back across the doors behind him before turning and continuing his agitated rampage. "Percy is being held in the Tuileries Palace, and is set to be executed tomorrow at noon - Fouché's doing, no doubt, making such a spectacle of the whole thing."

"That also makes it harder for us to do anything," Hastings agreed slowly, shaking his head, "too many eyes watching."

"He plans to make it as public as possible. What better way to restore his reputation than publicly executing the man who has been undermining French politics for years - who they see as the greatest enemy of the public."

"I should have guessed he'd choose something so conceited," Andrew cursed bitterly, shaking his head. "It was always his style."

"Which is why we must stop him, fast," Cosette breathed, digesting the news as best she could. "We can not allow him to win. Not now, not after all that we have all been through because of him."

"Agreed."

Will sighed softly, reminding them all he was still there - even if he was sat quietly, observing their hurried rant from his position sat back against the couch. "And how do you propose we go about this? Publicity means he will have men, eyes, everywhere."

"And we've faced worse," Hasting countered with an almost proud glint in his eyes. "Besides, if all goes to plan we'll be out of there before Percy even makes it out onto the executioner's platform."

"And deprive them of the show? How cruel?"

Hastings winked at young William. The mischief there was reassuring. If he was as scared as them then he was doing a remarkable job of masking it. They had a plan - a good one too - if not a little reckless. Armaund's intelligence, whilst troubling, only confirmed that their plan was indeed the correct course of action. This was good news. Not bad.

"Did you hear any specifics for tomorrow?" Andrew continued, pulling one of the many large maps on the table back toward him.

"Everything appears to match the little intelligence we were able to gather."

"Good."

"Although," Armuand sighed, marching over to stare down at the crudely drawn out plan for himself. On the map, it was clear what their intentions were, dotted and marked out in inky scrawls. "We may need to consider using the west gate rather than the east." He picked up a quill and began to make amendments, drawing a long line across the sheet, joining one 'X' with another. "We should also change Tony's position in the square. I think a more optimal one would be here, away from the watchtower."

Andrew watched with complete focus as he nodded. The others also hurried round to hear this new plan for themselves.

It was like this that they stood for the next hour or so until the candles began to wane and splutter as they melted down to their stands. Cosette considered it a universal sign that they all should retire and try to get what rest they could for the night. The others were only too willing to agree, each taking a final long look at the maps before making their way back to their assigned resting spaces.

For Tony, that meant making his way back across the room and toward the door where he would take the first watch of the night - a fact Hastings was eager to exploit as he stole Tony's remaining pillow from his abandoned bed on the floor.

Needless to say, the fact that nearly everyone was asleep within minutes was a testament to their exhaustion. A steady chorus of snores, murmurs and rustling sheets were all that could be heard in the growing darkness. In a way, it was comforting to Cosette, as she lay there restlessly, listening to every sound with a newfound appreciation.

To have everyone around her like this, somewhat peacefully… she couldn't take it for granted, particularly not when she was well aware this could be the last time she ever got to experience such a thing.

No. No, she refused to think like that. She didn't dare jinx the operation they had so meticulously planned. This time tomorrow they would all be aboard the DayDream and sailing safely toward England - that was the vision she had to keep ahold of. Not this terror induced nightmare she felt lurking in the shadows.

She sighed, rolling over on to her side to face the back of the sofa.

Was it midnight? Cosette could not be sure. How long she had been lying there, unable to sleep, was unclear but it felt like an eternity. The fact the others had somehow all managed to drift off into slumber made this detail all the more irksome. She would need her rest for the morning if she had any hope of this mad scheme coming to fruition.

Instead, she was forced to lie there in agony, listening to the steady sound of those around her sleeping. Pulling the blanket tighter around her, she rolled over again.

She was surprised, however, to see two eyes staring back at her from the floor - very much awake. "Can't sleep?"

"I could ask you the same question."

"But I asked you first."

"Indeed you did," Will surrendered, smirking a little as he did.

In another moment, she would have noticed how close together they were in the darkness. Neither seemed to move apart or sit upright. Instead, their bleary eyes met in the flicker of the candle someone had left burning.

"Would you believe me if I said it because of how uncomfortable this floor is?"

Cosette chuckled under her breath. "Perhaps, if I did not know you so well."

"Well, pity for that then," Will chuckled, winking as she rolled her eyes in mock disapproval. "I have no idea how I've put up with you my whole life. Look at me; I'm a mess who'd follow you anywhere."

"Maybe you should make some other friends then."

"But they'd all be too boring in comparison to the great Cosette Blakeney. You've set the bar impossibly high," he teased, almost trying to draw a smile from her. She appreciated the effort, knowing he could sense her distress as keenly as his own.

It was why she knew he offered her his hand then, squeezing it tightly as he watched her take a deep breath and try to force the words out of her mouth - to explain.

"I just… I can't sleep as I can't stop thinking about Thomas," Cosette confessed weakly. "I keep wondering how he is, how much he knows… But above all, I can't help but thank God that this happened to me - not him. If he had been taken in my place or if it had been he who Chauvelin had seen…"

Will watched as Cosette shuddered, brushing his thumb soothingly against her knuckles in well-rehearsed gesture. "I know what you mean," he soothed. "If our roles had been reversed I would have given anything to take this place, rather than Rose. I would never - could never - let anything happen to her."

"Let us be glad of the small mercy then," Cosette sighed, shaking her head solemnly. "You and I are here, together. But now I just wish I could take my father's place instead. It seems a never-ending cycle."

Will's eyes clouded over, his expression dimming as he sat upright so that his face was millimetres from hers. "I just wanted to say that, if anything were to happen tomorrow-"

"What?" Cosette whispered sharply, visibly blanching at the thought. It was her turn to sit up. "Nothing will happen tomorrow, Will, except that we shall all be safely back on our way to England."

"I know, but still…"

Cosette's hands began shaking. She knew the odds, knew what they would face. She had seen it with her own eyes, and as much as she tried to be optimistic externally, inside her gut churned with terror.

Gazing at her, it was as if he could see the soul beneath. "We've been over the plan a million times but you know the risks. You can't break-in. You have to walk in—and out. Then we can make the escape back here, with everyone in one piece."

She nodded.

He brushed a kiss to her brow. "Chauvelin and Fouché decided to taunt the Blakeneys'," he said, his voice turning sharp and hard. "It's only fitting that a Blakeney should be the one to get your father back."

He gripped the sides of her face, bringing them nose to nose.

"Do not get distracted. Do not linger. You are the Pimpernel now, and the Pimpernel knows when to pick their fights."

She nodded, their breath mingling.

Will growled. "They decided to hurt our family, and we do not allow those crimes to go unpunished." His confidence rippled and swirled around Cosette. "You do not fear," Will breathed. "You go in, you get him, and you come out again."

Had he just said their family?

She stole the kiss, banishing all dark thoughts and choosing instead to cling to these brighter ones whilst she still could. They were in the eye of the hurricane, in their own bubble of bliss for just a moment. She was in no rush whatsoever to burst it as she closed her eyes and held him close.

For a moment, her world began and ended with William Ffoulkes and the love he felt for her. She allowed it to consume her, to burn away the dregs of terror or uncertainty that clung to the innermost parts of her mind. She was a Blakeney after all, just like he said. Now, she had to act like one.

Will could apparently read her mind as he voiced her thoughts aloud, pulling away long enough to draw a shaky breath. "Now, shouldn't we try and get back to sleep?" he purred, pressing one last kiss against the skin of her flushed cheek.

She nodded as silence fell over them; probably as they heard what appeared to muttering in someone's sleep, causing both of them to settle back to their original positions with guilty smiles on both their faces.

"Go to sleep," Cosette giggled, knowing Will was still watching her out of the corner of his sparkling eyes. "Before someone wakes up or Tony hears and rats us out to the others."

Will bowed his head low, still chuckling to himself as he did. "Goodnight, Cosette."

"Goodnight, Will."


	20. Chapter 19

Dawn broke the following morning, just as it did every day. The world, regardless of its pains and troubles, was filled with light and warmth and the promise of a new day. No matter what, the world could always be called upon to carry on.

Still, the sight of the morning did little to ease the tension that filled the house as its occupants rose to face the day. Each one looked as solemn as the next, knowing what morning meant. It meant it was time to leave and face their futures with whatever pride and confidence they could muster.

Easier said than done.

Cosette took a deep breath and turned for the door. She had chosen one of the numerous empty rooms adjoined to the lounge to dress for the day, adjusting herself into the disguise the others had managed to rustle up for her on such short notice.

Follow the plan. Simple really, were it not for the fact this was her plan. Hers, even if she had received input from the others. It did not change the fact the chances of this even working relied solely on her shoulders.

She wanted to be sick. Had the others not been stood so confidently beside her, she probably would have been. It was a greater responsibility than she had ever faced before in her life, and with it came the greatest risk too.

Cosette kept her chin high though. She kept herself together, as she spread out the various items of her disguise across the abandoned table in the centre of the room. After checking the door was once more securely locked (so as to avoid any unfortunate and embarrassing accidents), she began to strip, exchanging an item of clothing for its alternative.

As odd as it felt to be changing in the middle of a dusty, empty drawing-room from a bygone age, she found the mindless activity to be a calming one. Every lace she fastened, or tie she pulled tighter, expelled some tension inside of her until Cosette felt oddly numb.

Once more, she didn't recognise herself as she pulled on the last item of her tattered apparel, tying her hair back beneath the scarf in a neat bundle. The weight of the pistols in her skirts was not wasted on her either, nor was the cold caress of steel against her side where her blade sat, masked beneath her skirt and coat as she tucked it neatly into her belt and waist. She had buckled on the weapons Hastings had lined up in neat rows on the table, positioning them so that they wouldn't be visible beneath her skirts.

The nod of approval she received from the man as she rejoined the others suggested she'd managed admirably without someone to assist her - though God only knew how Amelia would have faced the prospect of assisting her mistress to fasten weapons to herself. She was far more used to preparing her for battles in the ballroom, not the streets of Paris.

Cosette sighed. She shared a glance at Andrew and noted the way his jaw tensed as he reached for the door. He was fighting the urge to be nervous, as much as any of them were. Though, you wouldn't have guessed from the strong, clear tone of his voice as he turned back toward the room.

"We stick to the plan, and stay together in our teams," Andrew commanded, addressing the troops before they once more hurried unto the fray that awaited them. It was only when each of them had nodded in agreement that he resumed his route.

"You get them in and out again," Armaund called, pausing to warn the man beside him. His gaze made it clear to whom he was referring as Cosette walked to his side, getting a feel for the weight of the weapons and the flow of the heavy skirts. "I don't care how many of them you have to kill to do it. They both come out, Ffoulkes or I'm coming in after you and murdering you myself."

Andrew nodded silently in a promise. He would protect his family. He would protect both the Blakeneys' in his charge just as he had always done.

"You have my word, Armaund."

"Let us pray that will be enough."

Cosette knew her uncle had wanted to be the one to accompany her inside the palace. Had he not once been such a prominent face there he probably would have been selected, but they couldn't afford the risk. Not now and not today of all days. That was why Andrew had been the one chosen to accompany her. After all, there was no way in hell Cosette would have allowed anybody else to release her father except herself. However, there had been no way in hell any of the others would allow her to do so alone. So, Andrew had been selected to assist her.

There was a determination in his eyes as he had volunteered himself. One that Cosette found reassuring, as the man had almost been another father to her. As her father's closest, and oldest friend it felt oddly right that it should be him.

Still, she knew that knowledge did little to ease the worry on Uncle Armaund's face. It was why she pressed one last kiss to his cheek and squeezed his hand tightly. "I'll see you in a few hours, Uncle Armaund. Have faith."

"For you, I will," Armaund sighed once more, stepping back to allow the pair out of the doorway and down the steps beyond that led back out into the street. "I love you."

"I love you too," Cosette echoed, hurrying after Andrew without another word.

* * *

The streets were oddly busy that morning, filled with more people than Cosette had expected.

Of all the things for her to think about, she was surprised that was the first thing she noticed. Not the bright blue sky overhead. Not the fresh wind blowing the scent of bread and flowers across from the market. Not even the soft tread of their boots against the cobbles.

Cosette's attention was well and truly focused on the sight in front of them, watching every step she took and the scene awaiting them at the end of it. It was as if her senses had heightened, her nerves making her skittish and alert like a startled horse.

Apparently, Andrew could sense it as he smiled across at her, trying to soothe her with his composure. "At least the weather appears to be on our side," he started, looking above them.

However, again, Cosette's attention remained instead on the world around them, and not on the space above them. Silence was all she offered Andrew as they continued on together, marching their way along their planned route. They stuck to the busier of the Parisian roads, choosing to cut and weave through markets and crowded streets so as not to draw attention. Instead, they were once again merely two faces amongst hundreds. If Fouché or Chauvelin had indeed planted their spies in the city then they'd have a damned hard time locating them like this… which was exactly why they'd chosen it.

But all the preparation in the world could not have readied Cosette for the sight awaiting them as they turned their way off the bridge, and began to approach the final stretch towards the gleaming palace ahead.

Even in the midst of the crowded street, something made her stop. Cosette didn't even realise her feet had ceased moving till she felt Andrew gently pull on her hand to encourage her on through the crowds. However, she could not look away from the man stood only a few feet across the square to her left.

She could not look away from his hand, or the toys that he held in them as he yelled to the crowds. Several children crowded round him, clapping and cheering eagerly as they reached their own.

A small wooden figure, dressed in fine, red, gentleman's clothing was attached to the rod by a piece of string. The string itself was tied tightly about his neck, fasted in what appeared to be a noose.

The sight made her stomach churn as the string bounced, again and again, greeted each time with children's laughter as the figure was repeatedly hanged in a macabre cycle.

"Get your figures here! Get your Scarlet Pimpernels here!"

With a cry like that, he could have been any other merchant on the street, flogging fruit or handmade wares. For a moment she tried to convince herself he was nothing more than that. Just a vendor she could pass and ignore with a polite smile as she did back in London… but this wasn't London, and those weren't just any old wares. The juxtaposition amongst the other traders was harrowing, forcing a wave of nausea to wash over her.

"Don't look," Andrew urged, gently turning her head back towards him. His gaze was concerned as if he sensed the rising panic that was swelling inside her. "It'll be alright."

Cosette nodded weakly. She clung to his promise for as much strength as it could provide her with despite the image that was now burned into her mind - the image of what was to come if they should fail today.

Her heart raced, pounding in her chest as she walked on, keeping her head low. Every step took her closer into danger and it was hard not to let it rattle her. Even Andrew's steady pace beside her was hardly as comforting as it should have been, especially as they slunk their way up the stairs and entered the outer courtyard of the Tuileries Palace.

Keeping their heads low, they blended in with the wealth of other servants and guards entering the palace for their morning duties. Yet again, a pang of sadness filled her that this was to be Cosette's chance to finally see the famed palace for herself. She'd heard the throne room was a marvellous spectacle, one worthy of its international repute. It would clearly have to wait for another day and visit if she even dared to return… and that was supposing she even made it out of the palace in one piece in the first place. Only time would tell where that was concerned.

"Good morning," Cosette chirped, sliding her best interpretation of a smile onto her face as she approached the gates ahead. All around her were other workers, dressed similarly to her, chatting and grumbling amongst themselves as they passed the few guards stationed there. Taking it in turn, they each approached the guard, flourishing a small scrap of paper, before being ushered through and into the palace beyond.

A sense of relief flooded Cosette at the sight. This was just as they'd expected it to be, even if approaching the guard herself was enough to make her heart race again.

"Name?" the guard barked, staring at her with a surprising amount of intensity. It was enough to make her stomach churn as she thrust the paper in her hand into his chest.

"Annalise," came her sharp reply.

The guard paused, examining the paper before handing it back to her. "New one, are you?"

"Yes," she stammered. Her eyes drifted to where Andrew stood, talking to the guard at the table beside hers. "My father, Henri found me the position."

"Thought I didn't recognise you. You look too pretty to be one of the usual lot."

"Thank you, Monsieur," she practically purred, fluttering her eyelashes as seductively as possible. Even a light giggle passed her lips as she pretended to blush. Sometimes, it really was too easy. it was as if she were stood back in the ballroom of Almack's itself, a simpering debutante batting away suitors with all the grace and womanly wiles she could muster.

Carefully, she collected her paper and nodded at the man as she made her way past him. Thankfully, Andrew joined her, having also been cleared for their duties in the palace.

"There are so many guards," she whispered sharply, leaning toward him as she did so.

"We knew there would be."

"But this many?" Cosette tried not to panic at the ocean of uniforms that swarmed around them. Everywhere they turned, there was another one standing or marching somewhere.

"Well, your father does have a way of drawing a crowd," Andrew grumbled affectionately. "You should not be surprised."

She wasn't. They'd planned for this. It just left a bitter tang in her mouth as she struggled to swallow the reality. As she kept reminding herself, reading and playing these kinds of things was no reliable measure for what they were actually like.

The chime of the clock tower was clear. Eight o'clock. It was still early to everyone else, but the League knew they were right on time, running according to their own schedule.

Andrew nodded subtly in acknowledgement. The first step was complete. Now they had to pray the consecutive steps were completed with similar ease, both here and with their fellow members outside the gates.

She whispered a silent prayer. One, that was answered only a few short moments later.

The sudden cry behind her of "Fire! Fire!" was the signal that sent her world into chaos, and her plan into action. Her gaze hastily flickered towards the skyline behind her where the first plumes of smoke were already beginning to rise just beyond the wall.

It had worked then. The next part of their plan had succeeded, and with quite some success too she noted as men all around her began running away from her, bursting towards the already impressive blaze on the other side of the palace - the Emperor's side to be precise.

She murmured another silent plea Tony, Hastings and Will had made it safely away from the fire before it had been discovered.

At least the confusion provided a perfect cover for them. No one even looked at them twice as she and Andrew turned and chose their moment to head up the stairs ahead. They were merely two faces in an endless sea of them as they navigated their way up the staircase and along the finely decorated hall beyond.

Cosette had memorised the maps of the palace till her eyes had hurt. It was the mentally prepared route that she followed as Andrew hurried along beside her toward the busier hallway of the lower levels of the state chambers.

"There," Andrew hissed, pointing to a turning to the side of the corridor. "That's the quickest route below."

Cosette once more said a silent thank you for the loose lips of washerwomen, and the poor souls paid a pittance to scurry through the lower levels of the palace. Without them, the League would never have stood a chance at locating this route directly into the heart of the prison cells located securely below. Not without having to enter through the main gate, that was. This way was strictly for extra servants, providing a forgotten and discreet alternative that was not to be found on any official maps or sketches… an alternative Cosette had been dying to exploit once Armaund had revealed it to them the night before.

Her uncle truly was a wonder with his contacts. He could charm anyone and everyone, which probably explained why he'd been assigned the task of securing their safe passage out of the city once Percy had been extracted. It also probably accounted for how he'd managed to woo someone as remarkable as her Aunt Louise into marrying him… But that was a thought for another time.

Right now they had more pressing issues to worry about, like the fact they were now mere feet from the corridor that ran adjacent to the outer walls of the prison, and the tunnel that was located only a few feet beyond that.

Her nerves and the soft murmur of voices was to blame as her hand reached nervously to her side. Her grip was unsteady, but as soon as she felt the cool grip of her knife against her palm she felt her heart ease.

There were only a few guards blocked the way ahead. They were stood together at the edge of the outer corridor, basking in the sunlit gardens. The issue with that image, apart from the guards themselves, was the doorway embedded into the stone wall behind them, blocked by the lingering men's bodies.

"Damn it," she whispered under her breath as she crouched against the wall. "Now what? It seems our distraction hasn't proved as effective as we wanted."

"Hold on," Andrew whispered encouragingly. "Give the others a moment more…"

"Whatever for?"

A thunderous boom rocked the palace yet again, sending all down at the impact. Even Cosette felt herself lurch forward clumsily, blade flying, hands ripping open on the cobblestones. She scrambled up, lunging for her weapon.

The fire must have spread to the weapons caché she noted as the distinct sound of gunpowder exploding ricocheted through the air. It would explain the explosion that had sent her, and half those around her, flying to the floor.

"Told you they'd come through," Andrew sniggered, already on his feet and dusting himself down. "Come on!"

That was easier said than done as Cosette staggered to her feet, fighting nausea inside. Her ears rang. At least Tony and Hastings had clearly seen to their end of the plan… with perhaps a little too much enthusiasm, or so the following explosions seemed to indicate.

"Honestly. Children… the pair of them."

"Perhaps," Andrew grinned, watching as the remaining guards hurried away and toward the now raging fires on the other side of the garden walls. "But children who know how to blow stuff up very well."

"I'm sure it comes in very handy at dinner parties." The sarcasm was clear, even if Cosette had a suspicion she wasn't actually too far from the truth. She wouldn't have put anything past them at this point. "Which way is it from here?"

Andrew paused. "Down there, and passed the last set of doors out of the courtyard and into the tunnels."

She didn't need telling twice. It was as if she'd heard the siren's call as she took off hastily, her heart guiding her rather than her brain. She didn't stop for a moment. Throwing open the door, she hurried down the dusty steps below.

Her eyes quickly adjusted to the dim light, only the flickering torches on the walls offering any reprieve from the darkness. It was like they'd been swallowed whole into the darkness, becoming one with the wavering shadows surrounding them. Only their short breaths gave any indication they were there as they crept toward the sound of voices… two voices to be exact… there were only two guards ahead… Simple.

They did not see her until she was upon them.

Wordlessly, Cosette drove the butt of her pistol into the back of the nearest guard's head. With a short cry, he collapsed forward onto the floor, as his companion let out a startled yelp.

However, it was silenced before it could be heard by any passers-by. Andrew saw to it, as he hauled the man against him, coiling one arm tightly around his throat, the other holding the edge of his pistol against the man's temple.

A terrified squeak escaped his lips, but that was all as he froze. His eyes were wide in obvious panic as he realised the situation he was in. "Please," he began, his voice breathless from the arm choking his throat. "I have a wife… children… Please don't kill me."

"We don't intend to, friend," Andrew whispered sharply, "As long as you help us you will be reunited with your family like any other day."

The man nodded in clear agreement. It was obvious he prized his life above any so-called loyalty to either the palace or his position as a French officer. Thank God. At least that made their job even easier, or so Cosette smirked as she stepped forward and into the dim light of the candles.

Despite her smaller height or slight stature, she had inherited her father's remarkable knack of silently commanding respect. She didn't have to say a word as she stepped forward, her slow and steady pace full of authority and confidence. The wicked grin on her face was also striking, a dangerous blend of innocent and terrifying.

"You can start by telling us about the Pimpernel," she hissed in perfect French. "Where is he?"

The man gulped, almost too scared to speak. However, the gun Andrew pressed harder against him was brutal but effective encouragement. "Down there," he choked. "He's the only prisoner. The rest were moved yesterday under orders from Fouché… it was safer that way."

The look Andrew gave her said they had been right then. They'd guessed as much. Still, hearing it aloud was comforting. The guard appeared too scared to even try tricking them after all. He had too much to lose.

"Thank you, Sir," Cosette smiled. The resemblance between her and her father was uncanny as she grinned, her eyes sparkling with the promise of danger and mischief. The sight almost stopped Andrew's heart, let alone her poor target's as he whipped the gun round and sent the guard sprawling onto the floor to join his unconscious companion. "So far so good."

Andrew sighed. "Let us pray such luck continues then. Shall we?"

She didn't need to be told twice. Cosette was already half out the door before he'd even finished opening it, offering to let her pass in the gentlemanly fashion she was accustomed to. Once again the Ffoulkes and Blakeney combination proved to be a formidable formula for success.

They'd almost made it… they were so close it actually hurt…

Maybe that was what fuelled them both as they rounded the final corner, and came face to face with the last set of guards awaiting them.

Cosette's mind was almost blank as she allowed instinct to take over. Her hands seemed to move of their own accord as she seized the two pistols attached to her skirts and held them aloft. Her uncle's voices echoed in her mind, their teachings ringing in her ears as she fired with surprising ease, stopping the approaching guard on her right. He cried out and crumpled to the floor as blood began to pour from his thigh.

His partner though, ducked as she fired again. He cried out as went to draw his sword, barreling towards her as if he was on the front lines of Europe. Cosette's actions were swift as she sidestepped his blade, and stamped down on the guard's foot. Her fist swung towards his face and sent him sprawling backwards and down the stairs in a terrible heap.

"You stole that move from your father," Andrew chuckled, his voice echoing across the room.

Cosette rolled her eyes. "I did not steal it. I merely perfected it."

"Is that so?"

"Yes!" she smirked, "but hurry up."

There was little time to waste now that the guards had been dealt with. Andrew realised that as he made light work of his own assailants, who now also lay on the floor. They had bought themselves a few moments but that was it. Even she knew the fires would not distract the men outside for long. Nor would the rest of the league - even if she knew Hastings and Tony were more than willing to do their best to prove otherwise.

But for now, it was up to her and Andrew to manage this part alone. So, they turned their attention to the unconscious forms beside them. Hastily Cosette dropped to her knees and began to rifle through the first guard's pockets, Andrew mirroring her. A few moments later he paused triumphantly, holding the key aloft in his hand.

"Found it," he beamed. "Come on."

He practically sprang to his feet, a mad blur of adrenaline and determination. Cosette could hardly keep up as she followed in his wake. Together, they hurried towards the steps that clearly lead to the palace dungeons at the end of the hall.

Her feet all but flew down the stairs and along the darkened corridor, knowing he was nearby… she almost felt him calling to her… just a little further ahead…

"Percy!" Andrew bellowed, his voice echoing through the space.

A faint noise from ahead was all the signal they needed. Cosette didn't even stop to check Andrew was following as she took off again, surging ahead in the darkness of the corridor. The route was horrifically familiar.

"Papa!" she cried, clutching the bars in front of her so tightly her knuckles all but turned white from the strain. "Papa! Are you alright?"

"Cosette?" came the gasp from within the darkness. She heard what sounded like someone moving about before she felt the warmth of his hands on hers. He clutched her tightly in a grip so familiar she knew immediately it was him, long before his face hit the light of the candle. "What the devil-?"

"It's called a rescue, Percy," Andrew suddenly laughed, appearing beside her. He wasted no time inserting the key into the lock and wrenching open the cell door. "I do believe you are familiar with the concept."

"As much as you are with aiding the women in my life to achieve them," Percy half laughed, half sobbed, clapping a hand on to his arm in greeting. He then all but seized Cosette into his arms. "Something about Blakeney women I think… they never know when to run away from the danger. Not towards it."

"I learnt from the best," Cosette choked, fighting the sting of tears in her eyes. Now was not the time. There'd be time aplenty for tears later when they were far, far, far away from here.

"Your mother would be oddly proud to hear that," Percy sighed, pressing a tender kiss to her forehead before releasing her. "Even if I am inclined to wring your neck for putting yourself in danger."

"What was I supposed to do? Leave you to perish here, all alone?"

"If it meant keeping you safe, then yes."

Andrew rolled his eyes. "How about you two discuss this once we are free and safely away from here?"

They both nodded.

"Good idea."

Arguing could wait. For now, they had better things to be doing than standing in some toddler-esque stand-off whilst hundreds of guards swarmed above their heads.

If only the universe could have agreed.

The three of them turned, making a steady procession back along the prison corridor and towards the steps back into the outer courtyard. Andrew kept an arm loosely wrapped around Percy's side as he staggered along. Even in the darkness of the subterranean space, Cosette knew her father was seriously injured, despite the fact he had yet to say so aloud. However, she knew the Blakeney pride by now and severely doubted he would, even if his face was painted seven shades of black and blue. He would merely pull that trademark smile of his, and brush them aside with a cheery 'tis but a scratch'.

Cosette wasn't going to let him. Not this time. But first, they had to get the hell out of the prison if they wanted to have a chance at all of tending to one another and their numerous wounds, both physical and mental.

It was a task easier said than done, despite their extensive planning. For, as the light of the doorway ahead appeared, no one could have prepared them for the sight of the figure stood waiting in it.

Cosette stopped. Percy and Andrew also froze. Her blood turned to ice as she saw the one person she hated most in all the world waiting for them… eyes alight with villainous intent.

"Fouché?"


	21. Chapter 20

"Where on earth do you think you're all going?"

Fouché's voice was like ice. It was enough to paralyse Cosette as a wave of panic surged within her, muting any euphoria she had felt so far at their otherwise effortless escape. Something inside her faltered at the sight of the man himself stood blocking their means of escape.

"Ah, Fouché, we meet again. I am glad. For a moment there I thought I wouldn't have the chance to say farewell," Percy sniped, his cheery tone dripping with sarcasm. Though subtle, Cosette would have had to have been blind to miss the way her father's spine straightened, his shoulder's tensed as if preparing to strike.

It didn't make any sense. Even through the ringing panic in her ears, Cosette knew she had planned this escape meticulously. Fouché wasn't supposed to be here. In fact, there wasn't supposed to be a new guard rotation for another few minutes.

That was all they had - their only window for escape, and it was getting narrower with every passing second. They didn't have time for this unforeseen interruption.

"What can I say, Sir Percy? I would never dare dream of refusing you such civility - after all, we have become well aquatinted these past years," Fouché purred, slowly stepping closer to the trio. Close enough for the blade in his hand to flash in the dim light of the wall-torch. As if the man himself hadn't been enough of a threat, this sudden addition only re-enforced the warning that they needed to leave - and fast. "Alas, it is not sentimentality that bids me prevent your departure. Our Emperor has no desire to see you leave France unless it is in a coffin."

The image invaded into Cosette's mind with horrific vividness. She would never allow that to happen. Never.

As if also sensing the need to remove the threat and fast, Andrew stepped forward, sword ready to strike. However, he was stopped as Percy shook his head. His trembling arm reached out to halt his friend.

"Oh no, this one's all mine," Percy grinned deviously.

His hand extended out in silent invitation. Andrew knew instantly without words what his friend needed, which was why he drew his sword and handed it to him.

Percy grinned, swivelling his wrist in a clear attempt to intimidate his foe. No matter how tired he was, or the fact he'd clearly been treated less than civilly since arriving in this prison, his abilities were as strong as they'd ever been. Fouché had made yet another error in challenging the English hero.

He nodded in open invitation, even bowing mockingly before side-stepping Fouché's first blow.

It was as if someone had lit a match in a tinder box.

The air was suddenly filled with the clashing of steel, footsteps dancing upon the flagstones, as well as grunts and curses. Cosette didn't know where to look. Part of her was transfixed, whilst another part felt too ill with worry to dare watch. She didn't know how Andrew did it.

Her father was the first to make a hit, scratching a thin line across Fouche's arm as he struck. Blood was obvious as it seeped through the fabric of his coat, making a dark stain that had the man hissing in from the sting.

However, he didn't let Percy press his advantage as he swung back wildly, forcing him off balance and on the retreat. Percy shuffled back with as much grace as possible before being able to regain the upper hand and slam his fist into the man's face. It took more than that to distract Fouché though. There was a reason the Emperor had made the man his chief of security and head of his intelligence services.

He was a warrior. A ruthless, killing machine.

It was a fact Cosette was reminded of as Fouché chose his moment well. With incredible speed and precision, she watched him execute moves she'd never seen before and with great effect. Her father could only respond, rather than anticipate his enemy's moves.

For a moment - and just a moment, mind you - there was genuine panic in Percy Blakeney's eyes. He had never liked to be on the defence, to surrender control to his opponent. It meant he was at the mercy of Fouché's movements.

It was the only reason Cosette could think of to explain the next minute, as she watched in terrified awe.

Not many men in the world had the power to lock swords with Percy Blakeney, yet that was exactly what Fouché did, twisting round and snagging his sword with Percy's forcing him to hold off the blade that was otherwise poised over his head like an eager executioner.

Both men's arms shook from the sheer strength they exerted, trying to overpower the other.

"Surrender," Fouché taunted, his eyes wild with rage as he stared at his prey. "Surrender and I will make it quick - for all of you."

"My sins are mine," Percy hissed, "Mine and mine alone - not my daughter's, or my family's. You should have never drawn them into this."

"You drew them into this, Sir Percy, not I."

"Only a coward strikes his enemies' loved ones, rather than face them, man to man."

A cry escaped Percy's throat as he shoved forward, dislodging his sword from Fouché's and sending the man staggering backwards to the wall. He was trapped and the panic in his face said as much as he dodged Percy's next blow, striking wide as he tried to regain the upper hand.

The urge to leap into the fray was all-consuming. It was only the grip Andrew had on the back of her coat that kept Cosette rooted to the spot. This fight was her father's, and his alone. She had had her turn before, and as hard as it was to remember, this was about more than just her abduction… this feud, the years of life and death, of cat and mouse, of the endless pain and suffering… it had bubbled violently into this one moment.

It was not her place to disturb it. Instead, she watched in muted horror, fists clenched as she waited for its eventual conclusion.

Thankfully, she did not have to wait too long. There was merely a flurry of blows, of parries, before finally, Percy hit his stride.

One. Two. Three.

Each blow followed the other in a terrifying haze. There was more speed and ferocity in him than Cosette had ever witnessed before. He resembled a tiger more than her father, lashing out at his prey with savage determination.

Fouché never stood a chance.

He was frantic as he felt his control slipping. Every blow, he was forced to block as he staggered further and further towards the wall. His space was dwindling as was his ability to operate within it. Inevitably, he became trapped.

"Please," he croaked as he hit the wall with a resounding thud. His arms flew upright like wings trying to take flight as he watched Percy lunge. He waited for the sword to run him through… yet it never came.

Nervously, Fouché dared to open his eyes.

He glanced down.

He watched the blade positioned over his heart waver as Percy held it there, in deliberate torment.

One push.

That was all it would have taken to end this permanently. To kill him and let their feud die in the tunnels beneath the Tuileries palace. A lesser man would have relished in the opportunity presented to him, yet Sir Percy was not a lesser man.

"Please?" he repeated softly, but with utter iciness in his veins. "Please what? Spare you like you refused to spare my family? That's a bold request."

Fouché whimpered. His eyes were wide and Cosette almost swore she could see his heart leap out beneath his now exposed chest. "Yes… please. Spare me, I beg you. I'll never come near your family again."

Sir Percy paused. "A tempting offer but a little mistimed, my dear chap," he snapped mockingly. "You were never a man of your word. It'll do you no good now to throw it about like a bargaining chip."

It was then Cosette felt her blood turn to ice. Her heart stopped as she watched in mute horror. Could her father do it? Could he kill a man, like this? Consciously, and not in self-defence?

Then again, was it not self-defence to rid themselves of such a vile creature once and for all?

There had more than enough bloodshed since they'd stepped foot on French soil. There needn't be any more, even if a small part of her whispered from the dark depths hidden beyond her soul. Maybe his death was a blessing in disguise…

"I promise," Fouché tried once more.

Fortunately, Cosette was spared the decision of whether or not to trust him. It was her father's and her father's alone as he stared down his blade.

He smirked. "You don't deserve such a death, to become a martyr to your beloved cause. No, instead, my dear Fouché, you shall live. Live and bear witness to the shame of your final failures, knowing you could never catch the Pimpernel."

Fouché eyes widened in disbelief. However, a swift blow to the head sent him slumping to the floor. Such a terror, yet he looked so mortal lying on the floor, out cold, like an abandoned sack of potatoes.

"There - that should allow us ample time to leave this horrendous place." Percy sounded so calm as he spoke as if it was the weather he was discussing and not the battle that had just taken place.

Andrew blinked. He didn't seem to share Percy's non-chalantism. "We're just leaving him like this? Unbound? Alive?"

"We don't have time to waste with him," Cosette urged, even if part of her was tempted to lock the man in his own cell or kick his prone figure. Instead, it took every ounce of her self restraint not to give the man any further attention as she stepped over him and toward her father. "We need to go. We've wasted too much time as it is. The others will be waiting for us."

"You're right."

"I know. I usually am."

Andrew chuckled under his breath as he looked back to his friend and leader. Percy also couldn't appear to resist the urge to smile. "Whilst it's reassuring to see my daughter has been blessed with the Blakeney modesty, we really should get moving."

"Then let us move," Andrew agreed.

With that, they ran.

They ran as fast as the three of them were able, not stopping to look back. They burst down the corridors and back out of the winding labyrinth they were in. Cosette hadn't truly realised how dark the dungeon had been until she made it to the top of the stairs, and was blinded by the mid-morning sun glaring down at her.

Her father also winced, squinting as he tried to properly assess the situation ahead. He trusted both his rescuers explicitly though, a fact made clear by the fact he allowed them to lead the party back through the palace corridors and toward the front courtyard they had previously entered through.

No one gave them a second glance as everyone hurried around in their own frantic panic. The corridors and palace itself were awash with panic and chaos, servants and guards hurrying back and forth with buckets of water and ordering each other about.

"I'm assuming the others are around here somewhere?" Percy sighed, not sounding the least bit surprised by the chaos. Where one of them lead, the others usually followed.

Andrew only nodded. "They should be making their way across the courtyard to us as we speak if their distraction still holds."

Percy's eyes flickered to the roaring blaze, clear through the windows. The amusement was evident. "Discretion never was your strongest suit."

"Are you complaining?" Cosette teased, gesturing to the open door ahead. "We have horses waiting just down the river from the gate. We only have to make it out of the palace courtyard and we're clear."

Easier said than done.

Then again, at least the others appeared to be doing their very best at providing the three of them a decent chance at escape. The stench of smoke was thick in the air as the flames burned harder and stronger. The minute the trio stepped out of the building, they coughed as they tried to shield their faces from the worst of the stench and the suffocating ash that drifted on the breeze.

The entire far wall seemed to be consumed, as were the buildings and rooms behind it. What's more, it seemed to only be spreading, a theory confirmed as a sudden loud bang filled the air. Flames burst higher and ignited the other side of the building in a wall of heat that licked at Cosette's skin.

Perhaps she hadn't been as clear as she'd thought after all when she'd been explaining about how much gunpowder to use. Oh well. It was too late for regrets now. They'd come this far. If Hastings and Tony had got a little over-enthusiastic then it wasn't her fault.

A smile flickered on her lips as she hurried down the stone steps and out into the fray of bodies and smoke beyond.

Then she heard it.

A voice rang loud and clear into the courtyard.

A voice that was horrifically familiar to her.

"STOP THEM! THE PIMPERNEL IS ESCAPING!"

"Fumier," she hissed silently.

It seemed to take an aeon for his words to register with the masses of guards and servants amongst them. It seemed to take even longer for the guards to follow his outstretched finger, pointing directly at the retreating figures.

Cosette cursed.

She should have known Fumier was here somewhere… She had hoped they'd have had a minute or two more before he and the next guard change discovered their escape or Fouché's unconscious body. Clearly, this was not meant to be. She could only thank the lord Chauvelin seemed to be absent from this tableau.

Instead, she ducked as the first shot fired from a guard who had drawn his pistol. The men around him suddenly seemed to realise what was happening as well as they followed suit, drawing their blades and darting towards them through the confusion. Needless to say, the crowd began to panic, screaming as they darted to avoid being hit.

It the courtyard had been panicked before, it was pure pandemonium now.

You could not see the wood for the trees, so to speak. Buckets went flying as people abandoned all efforts at stopping the blaze. Their primary concern was now for their safety as guards and people alike turned on one another, confused as to whom they were supposed to be arresting. Fumier's frantic orders were hardly audible as he tried to retain a semblance of control.

Cosette snarled. She'd escaped his clutches once before, she could gladly do so again.

"This way!" Andrew bellowed, snatching her hand in his and pushing Percy forward. The Blakeneys could see the route he had planned as he began to duck and dive between people, keeping their heads low. They were easily manoeuvring their way to where the crowds were thinnest, using bodies as shields as they tore toward their escape.

Thankfully, as if reading their minds, that was the moment the others chose to make their valiant return.

The heavy iron gates burst open with a terrific bang as yet more smoke clouded the air. Cosette gasped, knowing exactly who it was that then burst through, like the knights of the round table.

There they were: all the others, swords drawn and pistols blazing.

"Percy! You made it!" Armaund boomed, the first to notice the three of them just ahead. A laugh accompanied him as he plunged into the fray, knocking back the guards who tried in vain to tackle the sudden new arrivals. Mere seconds was all it took for them to clear their way through into the courtyard beyond. "I'd thought Ffoulkes would have gotten you all lost down there!"

"And miss this?" Percy grinned. "Never."

"And about time too, old fellow!" Hastings bellowed cheerfully, almost laughing as he tackled the nearest man to the ground.

This was what Cosette had been counting on.

The swirls of panicking guards, spectators and servants raging back and forth like a great ocean. It was the perfect cover, obscuring each and every league member as they struck, spearing their way towards the gates and to their reunion.

They were no longer hiding as they had done so many times before. They were out in plain sight, one of the hundreds of faces. They were so visible, they had become utterly invisible. In all the chaos, and smoke, and people, it was near impossible to spot them.

More so as she watched her father clothe himself in the guard jacket of the man lying at his feet. He hastily pulled the fabric over his ruined, soot-stained shirt. In mere seconds he had transformed from a prisoner, to palace guard. Of course, the disguise was not perfect, but it acted effectively enough to blind the eyes of those surrounding them, hunting them like fish in a barrel.

It masked him well enough that no one noticed as he drew his sword and turned.

No sight had ever been so magnificent as the one she saw now. Watching her father, sword in hand, fighting with all his might like some great warrior - Cosette had no words.

If this was it, if she were to fall right then, she knew she'd be at peace. To go down in a blaze of glory, surrounded by those she loved, living like she never had before… what better way could there have been?

The thought filled her with a sense of calm composure, stronger than any drink or elixir could provide. Her hand steadied its grip on her sword, and her lips even dared to flicker into a faint smile as she stood, ready to all but charge.

But then she saw it - the glint of metal in the sunlight.

Her eyes swung upwards to the flicker of light. It was easy to see where it had come from, easy to see the rifle that sat upon the battlement and the man stood behind it. What was also immediately clear to her was the direction it was pointed in, with the barrel trained with deadly precision at her father.

The moment felt infinite, an endless blur of panic and terror and choices. It was only a mere second, but to Cosette, it felt as if she were watching the whole thing in a stream of blurred images.

She didn't even hesitate.

It was not within her power to do anything other than suddenly lunge, closing the gap between her and her father, pushing both herself, and him to the ground.

She heard the crack of the rifle as it fired across the courtyard, and felt the sudden impact as they hit the ground together - the breath knocked clean out of their lungs. The sound of a responding shot ricocheted through the air as she knew one of them had taken out the threat.

However, relief didn't follow the realisation. Instead, Cosette's senses were overwhelmed by a sudden sense of pain… pure white-hot pain ran through her veins, making her cry out as she swore her side was on fire.

Cosette clutched at it feebly, as her father rolled off of her, and pulled her to her feet hastily. The sudden movement only made it worse, causing her to cry out again as she swayed unsteadily. Luckily she held her father's arm and managed to remain upright as they began to run again.

"Are you alright?" Percy gasped, shirt billowing around him.

Cosette truly didn't know how to respond. It was odd that she seemed to have hit the ground with such force to pain her so, especially with her father to cushion the fall beneath her. Still, she swallowed sharply as she fought for the breath to answer. "I will be once we are out of here - we need to get to the horses."

"Agreed."

They wasted no more time as they bolted for the league and the horses they'd brought with them. Tony, Hastings and Armuand were all clambering back aboard their frantic steeds, lashing out at anyone who tried to prevent them.

Andrew reached for the nearest rider to him, hauling himself up and behind Tony. He stopped long enough to check the other two were still behind him - a fact that, albeit touching, made Percy roll his eyes.

Sir Percival Blakeney had definitely had enough of being treated like a child for one mission. He was officially back in charge, a fact he made clear as he urged for them to run.

"GO!" the cry rang out, sending them all scrabbling.

Andrew and Tony lead the way as Armaund galloped over, and began to haul Percy up. They too began to canter after the others as Hastings followed in hot pursuit.

However, Cosette didn't need to worry as she reached for the final rider, who she noticed making a clear line for her. She had put one foot in the stirrups before Percy even had, and was swiftly in place behind her means of escape.

"Cutting it rather close, don't you think?"

Will's voice had never been more welcome. Cosette could have wept for joy as she was once again reunited with the one person she loved most in the world. In fact, she was sorely tempted to weep as they began to ride for their lives but for an entirely different reason. The pain in her side was unimaginable.

A sharp hiss escaped her teeth as she rolled her eyes and wrapped her arms instinctively around him. "A lady is never late - everyone else is simply early, William."

"Of course she is," he chuckled, tightening his grip on the reins as they followed the others. She felt him urge the horse into life. With a loud neigh, it bolted, needing no further encouragement to leave the hellish chaos behind them.

The others followed, their horses making hasty tracks as they all fled victoriously out into the city of Paris and to freedom.

* * *

Of course, it was mere moments later that the soldiers behind them sprang into life, leaping onto their own mounts to give chase.

Cosette didn't dare look back but chose instead to hold tightly as they wound down the streets, in and out of alleyways as they had planned. Their obvious preparation and skill paid off as they burst through the Paris gates with a sizeable distance between them and their pursuers.

"Through the woods!" Tony ordered, steering his mount to the side.

As one the others followed, clearly familiar with this routine. They'd discussed it in enough detail the night before Cosette half believed they could have ridden the route blindfolded, should it have come to it. Thankfully, it hadn't. There was enough danger still following them as it was.

She couldn't tell if the thundering in her ears was her heart or the horse's hooves as it tried to outrun its pursuers. She closed her eyes and took a breath, trying to clear her senses of the pain that threatened to overwhelm her. In many ways, she wished she could close her eyes and wait for it to be all over.

But a Blakeney never let their destiny slip from their own fingers. If Cosette wanted to ensure she and her family escaped alive, then she would have to see this through to the very bitter end.

Already, the others had the same thought as those not riding opened fire on their pursuers. Cosette reached down, to do the same.

A moan escaped her lips as she clenched on to Will, who was doing his best to keep them steady. Her free hand chose to swipe the pistol from the saddlebag. She cocked the gun, and turned her head, aiming as best as she could at the nearest riders.

She fired twice, missing once and hitting the rider closest in the shoulder on her second attempt.

He cried out, his horse stopping as he dropped the reigns and clutched his injury.

There was barely a flicker of guilt inside as Cosette turned back to Will, clutching him tightly again. Which was just as well considering the way her worldview was beginning to spin. She winced, doing all she could to ignore the burning sensation in her side.

Her hands fumbled for her coat which she pulled tighter around her, and sighed at the vague sense of relief it gave, swaddling her trembling figure as they rode for all she was worth.

There were more shots. There were more shouts.

Eventually though, after one or two particularly stealthy twists and turns through the thicket, Cosette realised she heard silence.

A hasty glance back over her shoulder confirmed her suspicions; The road behind them was empty which could only mean one thing.

They'd done it.

They were free.

Somehow, her completely insane plan had worked.

Her eyes turned heavenward as she muttered a silent prayer of thanks as she nestled into Will. Apparently miracles really did exist and she'd most likely used up her entire life's quota. That, however, she could live with if it meant she could keep her loved ones safe.

It was official; she was never leaving Blakeney Manor again.

* * *

The ride to the harbour took less time than expected. By the time the weary travellers arrived, the sun had only just begun to set.

The road had seemed longer than Cosette remembered it to be. Then again, she had never ridden so far, or so fast in her life. The first time she'd made the journey she had been unconscious, and bundled in the back of a cart, which hardly counted. The second had been broken with rest-bites that were too much a luxury for them to afford today. Still, relief flooded her body as the sight of the harbour came into view as they trotted to the end of the village street. They'd made it.

The sea air was thick with the pungent odour of fish and salt. Nothing had ever smelt so sweet to Cosette, for it was the scent of victory, and of freedom.

Somehow, her already intense smile grew at the realisation. Nothing and no one could deprive her of the euphoria that had been washing over her with every mile ridden. The cheers, conversation and jokes bartered between the riders had been a symphony unlike any other.

It was as if she was home again.

Speaking of home, however, Cosette was more than ready to complete the last leg of what had been the most exhausting journey of her life. All she wanted right then, was to have her mother hold her and hear her brother's laughter.

"We're almost there," Will whispered as if sensing her anticipation. He turned, shooting her one last appreciative smile as he led their horse toward the edge of the docks.

Their destination was clear. It would have been impossible to miss the elegant schooner waiting in the water, sails dancing in celebration at their arrival. The Day Dream really was a marvel, and not a common sight this close to French land. However, they hadn't had a choice when concocting their escape plans. Speed was imperative, not stealth and they needed the ship waiting and primed to flee should they have not arrived alone.

So, Cosette had sent word to the captain to be docked by noon and to leave without them should it come to the evening and they not appear.

Thankfully, though, their precaution was unnecessary considering the distinct lack of militia or guards chasing them. Instead, the town seemed oddly quiet as the band of adventurers began to dismount and hurry toward the awaiting gangplank, ready and waiting.

Will was the first to ease down, making room for Cosette to do the same. He even offered his hands, waiting to life her gracefully to the ground. Under normal circumstances, she would have protested so chivalrous an offer - she was perfectly capable of standing on her own two feet, thank you very much. Although, perhaps her exhaustion shone through. Maybe that was why Will offered the gesture, smiling as she accepted without protest.

Instead, Cosette hissed under her breath as a nauseating wave of pain washed over her and knocked the air from her lungs. Still, she kept her eyes on the horizon and started with the others towards the vessel ahead.

Yet, the next instant, she fell forward onto her knees, her head swimming and her stomach lurching as every ounce of strength she had left her. It was so sudden Cosette almost missed it, blinking in surprise as she found her world view tilted.

"Cosette?" Percy choked.

As soon as he saw her his skin paled considerably, even more so as he saw the mass of red seeping through her coat and between her fingers.

Her name was immediately shouted over and over again through the swirling haze, desperate and pleading, and she tried with all her might to focus on it, trying to focus on anything.

A moment later and Cosette felt it as someone lifted her into their arms and carried her with great haste. She managed to open her eyes only long enough to see the men she loved hurrying down the street behind her before she fainted dead away, lost in a sea of agony and exhaustion.


	22. Chapter 21

There were some nightmares that were universal to fathers, the world over.

Nothing could prepare Percy Blakeney for the ice-cold shock of seeing his daughter, kneeling on the ground. Nor the agonised and distant look in her eyes as she clenched her side, blood spilling between her delicate fingers.

He closed the distance between them in a few short strides.

Percy scooped her up and ran, cradling her in his arms, uncaring if any of the others followed.

They did follow, though. They were right on his heels, their hurried murmurs barely registering because he could not think of anything in that moment except getting his daughter to safety.

As he approached the DayDream, the gangplank lowered for him and he sent up a silent prayer of thanks that the crew were prepared and waiting. The sooner they were back on the water again, the better.

He called out to set sail as he carried her across the deck. His footsteps were hurried, and Percy didn't waste a single second in carrying her into one of the rooms below, where he laid her down on the bed waiting there.

Cosette had never been carried on to the Daydream before. Normally she would run up the gangplank with such excitement and enthusiasm to be aboard the majestic vessel. It was odd to be escorting her on, her lying so still and limp in his arms as if the life was fading from her with every passing moment.

Percy was terrified.

It only increased tenfold as he hastily reached for the bottom of the blood-soaked shirt and waistcoat, peeling them back to reveal the wound that was causing her to suffer. It was clear on the side her waist, flaming red and irritated as blood pumped out of what seemed to be a clear gun wound.

The impropriety of the moment wasn't lost, but his terror muted such trivial concerns. How could he have missed this? He cursed silently, blanching at the realisation his daughter had been shot… she had been shot saving him…

Cosette whimpered sharply in response and Percy gripped her hand tightly. He wasn't going anywhere.

He did not move, even as Andrew hurried into the room beside him and pushed past him to get a look at her. His voice was far stronger than Percy's would have been had he attempted to speak at that moment, telling Tony and Will to fetch water and towels.

"How is she?" Percy asked urgently as Andrew checked her pulse and felt her forehead.

It seemed like an eternity to wait while Andrew hurriedly inspected her but he finally replied, "The ball seems to have passed cleanly through her side. She is losing too much blood, but as long as we patch it up quickly she should be fine. It will require stitches though, and it will need to be monitored for corruption."

"It is probably for the best then, that she is not awake to witness this," Armaund soothed, watching closely from the other side of the bed.

His words were vaguely reassuring, enough so to give Percy only the slightest bit of relief as he began his vigil next to Cosette, brushing the hair from her face and examining her himself.

His heart was pounding as he ran his hand along her cheek. Her face was horrifyingly pale but her breathing was remarkably steady, even if a little shallow. It was enough to send relief flooding through him. Expelling a long breath, he leant over her and pressed his forehead to hers.

The room stayed quiet while he sat there, eyes clenched shut as he struggled to even out his heartbeat. Her face felt too warm, and he could feel her breaths against his hand. He silently counted each one in his head. He was barely aware of the others in the room, all standing quietly as he continued to rub her cheek with his thumb.

He barely noticed as Tony re-appeared, Will in tow, both carrying cloths, water and a rather sharp looking needle and thread. Hastings had disappeared up on deck to oversee their escape, leaving the four others to watch over their precious cargo.

It was going to be a long night.

* * *

Terror flooded her being. She was unaware of anything else as the world fell around her, leaving her trembling and moaning in its wake.

"Cosette," a voice came, urgently, in her ear. "Cosette, wake up, you're dreaming, wake up."

Hands shook her shoulders.

Her eyes flew open.

With a startled scream she found herself upright, clutching her side as agony tore through her. Her chest rose and fell wildly, failing to fill her lungs with any air. Her skin burned, her shirt clinging to her back with sweat.

She looked around at the bedsheets tangled around her legs when finally the haze parted enough for her to see the face in front of her.

"What… Where… Will?" she demanded in surprise.

There, in front of her, Will sat, still wearing the same dirt-stained suit that he had been wearing earlier, despite it being slightly more crumpled, and his brown hair lay tangled together, almost as if he hadn't changed and had slept in his clothes. His hands were placed upon her shoulders, warming her cold skin through the material of her shirt.

"Easy now… It was all a dream," he whispered, his voice calm and almost ordinary as if her waking up to find him sitting on her bed was normal. "You were crying out though, and thrashing about. Any more and I feared you'd ruin my father's beautiful stitches."

Cosette winced at the reminder, her hand clutching her side feebly as the situation finally caught up with her. Chauvelin, the shot, the riding for their lives and then… nothing. Had she fainted?

"How long have I been asleep?" she whispered. It was clear someone had tended to her wounds in her sleep. The stitches were neat but grotesque as her eyes clapped upon them beneath the covers.

"Six hours or so. Everyone else is nearby," Will sighed, but not without concern etched into his features. "What was the dream about?"

She shuddered slightly. "Nothing."

"Cosette," he pleaded. "Don't make me fetch your father."

"No, there's no need. I just… Are we really sailing home?"

"Yes. It's all over. We're all safe."

She nodded uncertainly as a wave of nausea swept over her, her side throbbing and burning beneath her shirt.

He touched her hair gently, pushing a fallen strand behind her ear. She felt instantly compelled to wrap her arms around him and draw him close. She was in such shock that she hardly had the urge to send him away. She watched him as he smiled at her warmly.

"Whatever your dream was about… whatever you're feeling… Let it all go," he smiled.

When she took a shuddering breath, her lungs filled with the scent of sea salt and Will. As it was his skin was slightly damp and icy, she wondered if he had been out walking the decks, the way he did the corridors at Blakeney hall. She shivered slightly, which caused him to hold her tighter against him, rubbing soothing circles on her back as her tears re-appeared.

He held her, rocking her gently, as she cried and cried. Relief, exhaustion, pain and disbelief swirled in a nauseating cocktail.

She did not know how long she sat there, weeping. However long it was, Will did not seem to mind. He waited patiently, unflinching as he waited for her to quiet.

"You don't have to tell me that I am being mad ... I just, swear it felt so real. Even now, I think I'm going to wake up and be back there… in that cell."

"I don't think you are mad but of course, I do feel obligated to remind you that nightmares are meant to be scary," Will explained."They are based on our thoughts and fears, and you know I'd never let any harm come to you anyway. I promised."

"I know. You made that promise when you were seven I think… do you remember? In the grand oak at Blakeney hall, when one day we were climbing and I nearly fell out of the tree and you caught my wrist. You promised you'd always protect me," Cosette breathed, watching his face as a smile crept onto his lips.

"I remember. Although, I would state that you leaping in front of pistols doesn't make that job easy."

"I won't apologise when it was to save someone I love, Will," Cosette replied sharply, but not without a smile. She knew he knew that for himself, but his concern was touching, to say the least.

"I wouldn't ask you to when I would also do the same. So rest easy." Will smirked and brought her hand to his lips. Without a pause, he kissed her fingers. She felt herself shiver in surprise, at his action. "I should find your father and tell him you're awake."

"No. Stay with me, please," she echoed suddenly.

Will raised an eyebrow at her. "Cosette Blakeney is afraid? well then, it must have been one very convincing dream."

She shook her head. "Please don't tease me so, Will."

"Never."

"Can you just hold me like you did when we were little?"

It was an innocent enough request with her wide, pleading eyes locked on him. Still, the embrace of two children was not the same thing as two eligible adults lying in bed together.

Will sighed softly but ignored the warning that echoed in his head. This was not any ordinary circumstance, and his sheer relief at even seeing her conscious was enough to drown it out as he opened leant back against the pillows, readjusting their embrace.

He would merely find the others shortly. A few minutes wouldn't hurt.

Cosette immediately accepted, nestling close with a small wince at the stab of pain she felt flare in her side as she moved. Still, the comfort of his embrace was enough to dull it in a moment.

"I'll be just here. Rest easy," Will soothed, relieved as Cosette nodded weakly. He was even more relieved as she slowly lay against him and let her eyes droop shut, her arm resting on his chest.

* * *

Playing invalid had never been one of Cosette's strengths. Even as a child she had refused to stay abed when struck down in sickness.

As a five-year-old, she had once escaped her room after being told she had contracted a mild fever. The weather had been far too fine for her to consider spending the day in bed, not when she had had her heart set on sitting amongst the freshly blooming flowers outside. Of course, this had not gone down well when her parents discovered her some hours later, blatantly ignoring their wishes and laying in the grass.

It was with a thorough scolding that she was escorted back to bed. If her parents had then taken turns to act as jailor for the following days, well then that was just demned unfortunate for her. All these years later and it seemed as if nothing had changed since then.

From the moment Percy Blakeney had hurtled into the cabin, having heard of his daughter's return to consciousness, Cosette had been subject to her father's concerned attention. It would have been touching were it not for the fact Cosette was ready to throw herself overboard from boredom. She may have only been abed for the mere half a day or so they had been at sea, but she was willing to swim the remaining narrow distance if it released her from this confinement.

Thankfully there were a mere handful of hours left till they docked. It would have been even sooner had the winds not been blowing against them on their return journey, or the sea so choppy.

Even now, a mere hour or so from Dover, the urge to slip her feet from underneath the covers and attempt to stand was strong. She glanced across at her father, debating whether or not it was worth the risk. Hastily she decided it wasn't, and simply leant back against the pillows instead.

Clearly, he'd noticed her uncertain glance as she'd fidgeted. "Are you in any pain? Should I fetch another opiate?"

Cosette shook her head. "No, the one you gave me when I was asleep was enough. I'm merely sluggish. I feel as if I've been trampled by a carriage, four horses and a couple of footmen."

It was true. The concoction she had been given earlier had numbed most of the pain, even if her side still burned in reminder of her narrow escape from death. It had also made her somewhat drowsy, which was probably most of the reason why she had yet to protest properly against her confinement. She hardly had the strength to rise, let alone start what she knew would be a long and arduous argument.

"I am glad to hear it." With a soft sigh, she watched as her father finally settled beside her. Pausing long enough to take her hand and summon up the courage to express what truly was on his mind. From the moment he had entered the room Cosette knew he had been swallowing down his true feelings. "At least perhaps now you may _actually_ follow one of my orders and stay in bed until we dock. From there we can arrange to travel home where you can rest properly."

Cosette couldn't fail to miss the fury seeping through her father's restrained tone. "Is that your plan? To sedate me into compliance?"

"If I must, after all, you have shown no regard for my authority or orders so far since we reunited."

And there it was: the truth of the matter. Her father was angry. It didn't take a genius to know why.

"Papa," Cosette groaned, restraining from rolling her eyes. "You can not honestly say you wish we had not rescued you from the executioner's block? I for one regret no part of my actions considering it meant I got you back alive, and in one piece."

"Whilst I am grateful," Percy corrected sharply, "that does not excuse your actions for a single moment. Not when I explicitly ordered you all to leave for England."

"You were in prison," Cosette scoffed indignantly. "Your order to leave you behind was horse-shit."

Her father braced his hands on either side of Cosette's legs and frowned in her face. He didn't flinch at her choice of swear word as he growled, "I am your Father. You don't get to disregard orders you don't like."

Cosette sat up this time, swearing at the pain lingering in her body. Yet, she had never been one to take an argument lying down - in this case literally. "Don't pull rank because you're mad-"

"You and your damned theatrics nearly got you killed." And even as Percy spat the words there was panic, again, in his eyes. His voice. "I'm not mad. I'm furious with you, and every traitorous gentleman out there who assisted you, although I am astounded that after all these years I am still surprised by their disobedience."

"So you're allowed to be mad about our choice to protect you, and yet all these years you prevented our being furious with you for your self-sacrificing idiocy?"

Percy just stared at her. Cosette stared right back.

"You could have died," was all he said, his voice raw.

"So could you."

Another beat of silence and in its wake, the anger shifted.

Her father said quietly, "Even after all these years I can't stomach it."

Seeing her hurt. Any of the League hurt. "We're alive, Papa. Can't you accept this moment for the victory that it is? Within a few hours, this will be nothing but a bad memory we can let fade into time."

"One day, you'll understand what it feels like to be responsible for another person's life - for ensuring the safety and well being of someone you care dearly for. Then, and only then, will you understand my pain."

"I believe I understand more than you think… This belongs to you, after all." Cosette paused as she reached for the gold band that still sat upon her right hand, glistening in the faint light of the candle. She removed it easily and placed it back in the palm of her father's hand. "I meant to give it back to you as soon as we left the palace, but … here. It belongs with the real Pimpernel."

Her father's brows rose as she dropped it into his waiting palm. "You're giving it back."

"Of course. Why? Is it some kind of test?"

"It wasn't. I merely thought you'd be rather attached to it," Percy soothed. "I… I felt you needed something to hold on to. To believe you could get out of Paris."

"Instead, it led me to you." And that, at the end of the day, was more important than anything else that had happened back on land. Both their sins and grievances were out of their desperate need to protect one another, to shelter those they loved most. In a way, Cosette finally understood what her mother had always meant when she'd called her, her father's daughter. Blakeney blood ran in their veins in a way that meant they would often butt heads, especially over matters concerning their family. Still, it was a burden Cosette was grateful to have been relieved of for now. "And I will admit it did feel rather powerful, intoxicating even to wear on my finger."

"You're welcome."

"Well, you're welcome to have it back. It was far too heavy for me." Cosette paused, watching as her father slipped the ring back onto his finger. It immediately looked better back with its true owner. "I don't suppose I can now count as an official member of the league?"

Percy rolled his eyes in a most ungentlemanly fashion. "Really? After everything that has just happened, and you ask to be a part of the league?"

"Maybe?" Cosette smiled softly, eyes shining with amusement. "I did save your life, after all. I also organised an escape from right under Napoleon's nose, and managed to survive in Paris all by myself-"

"Alright, alright," Percy conceded with a groan, pinching the bridge of his nose. "We'll discuss the matter more when we're home."

"And you have Mother to fight your corner?"

Percy frowned, but he didn't argue. They both knew it was true, even if Cosette had a suspicion she knew where her mother's opinion lay.

"Your mother is going to gut me like a fish when she hears about all this."

Despite everything, Cosette couldn't help but laugh at the thought. It seemed so ridiculously mundane that it felt unreal in the cabin.

"It's not funny," her father protested, but not without a smirk of his own. "It's my hide she'll have, madame. You can laugh all you want but you'll be doted upon, whilst I'm left to fear for my life."

"Papa," she wheezed. "Mama will be too relieved to have us both home to even consider flogging us."

"Well, let's hope you are right and I am not."

Then the door banged open.

"You are awake, thank God."

Hastings had always been one for dramatics, and today appeared to be no exception as he leapt into the room and all but threw himself on to the bed for a desperate handhold. He wasn't the only keen member of the gang aboard the ship, however. The fact the others all trailed in behind him was a testament to that fact, even if they seemed far less eager to physically assault her.

"Gently," her father warned, looking like an overprotective tiger as he narrowed his eyes at Hastings. "She's still weak."

Cosette gasped. Weak was never a word she ever wanted to be associated with herself, and the sharp slap to her father's side said as much. "I was shot but I'm alive. Alright? As if you all haven't had your fair share of wounds and scars."

"She's got you there," Tony teased, making his own way over to press a kiss of relief to her hand. "We're just glad you're alright."

"And now we've seen that for ourselves," Andrew simply said, suspiciously loitering by the doorway with a surprisingly excited Will, "we can go."

Cosette's mouth popped open, but Armaund explained with a broad, feline smile, "He's irritable this morning."

"Why?" she asked, watching Armaund pat Andrew on the shoulder and flash him a smile that was all too self-satisfied to be comforting in any manner.

"Because," Andrew answered for her, "I've been stuck on deck with Will and Tony, and they took me for all I was worth in cards."

"Sore loser?" she teased, gripping his hand as he finally drifted closer. His calluses scraped against her own—the only reminder of the trained warrior beneath the clothes and veneer.

"I am when my supposed brothers in arm tag-team me," he grumbled, pressing one last kiss to her forehead. "We came to tell you we dock shortly."

"Good," Percy sighed, looking all together ready to get off the ship and back on English soil. "I am more than ready to return to my comfortable bed and leave this dreadful episode behind us. I'm sure my wife will be relieved to have us home too."

"Suzanne, I think will feel similarly."

Marguerite. Suzanne.

Cosette, and by the looks of it Will, had almost forgotten their mothers in all the chaos.

God.

She missed her fiercely. The moment she finally laid eyes on her she knew this whole adventure would truly be over. For that and that alone Cosette wished the wind to fill their sails and speed them onward with as much haste as it could manage.

"Until then, gentlemen," Armaund continued, finally stealing everyone's attention back to himself as he rose from the end of the bed. His gaze was affectionate as he surveyed his brother-in-law and niece at the epicentre of this emotional reunion. "I feel we should leave our new leader to her rest. It's been a taxing few weeks, and I'm sure she could do with some more sleep before we dock."

There was little disagreement from the others, even if Cosette looked prepared to argue on her own behalf. For the remaining few hours, she could concede to sleep if it meant it would go quicker and she would feel less like she was floating in tar. Damn opiates.

Still, she managed a smile as she watched the others file out with a parting kiss or well wish.

She'd never been so happy in her entire life.

Cosette Blakeney was on her way home.


End file.
